One May Face a World of Demons
by orchids117
Summary: John Smith is a journalist struggling to make it big in the publishing world. Clara Oswald is a lonely girl looking for a way to let go of her troubled past. Together, they believe it's possible to conquer this world of demons, but when tragedy strikes they're forced to learn the hard truth. Sometimes, the demons win. RatedM just to be safe. There will be NO explicit content.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone, I'm back with a brand new story. This will be a completely human AU story between Clara and the eleventh Doctor. WARNING, this story will deal with mental illness and character death among other possible triggers such as depression and brief spousal/substance abuse. Please just remember it's categorized as tragedy for a reason, so if you have a real problem with these subjects I suggest you do not read this.**

**Now that that's out of the way, please enjoy! Reviews are very welcomed. :)**

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the BBC, I own nothing.**

* * *

**Prologue:**

It all seemed to happen very fast.

It was hard to believe that, really, she'd only met him one year ago. One year ago when she was first getting out of the asylum, one year ago when she'd started taking her pills regularly and the world she'd been fighting for so long settled into some kind of comforting, monotonous order.

She'd only found him _one year ago_.

And now, here he was, down on one knee in the dark of their living room with a ring in his hands and a hopeful smile on his face.

"Clara," He whispered, "Would you…?"

She said yes, of course she said yes. There had never been any doubt in her mind what she wanted with this man. This extraordinary man who had taken on her demons with a smile and still loved the woman he saw.

And as he stood to slip the ring over her finger and press his lips to hers she could only think of one thing to say.

"How the hell did we end up here?"

She never got her answer.

* * *

_**Eight Months Later.**_

John Matthew Smith stood over the grave of his newlywed wife with a single rose in his hand. Not a red rose of course, she had always believed red roses were pretentious and cheesy. No, her favorite had always been the white roses. She said white flowers had always been the most pure because they hid nothing. Every blemish, every bruise, every speck of dirt could be seen on the colorless petals. To his beautiful wife, they were the only honest flowers. The only ones she would ever accept.

He felt his lips twitch up into a smile as he laid the single flower onto the grass. He stayed there for a moment, clinging to her headstone to balance himself.

Matt sniffed. "I… I've decided to finish the book after all… For us, for you… For me." He caressed the soft curves in the letters of her name and felt the hole in his chest eat away at his insides. How could this have happened? They were happy! Freshly married and only just back from their luxurious honeymoon in New York- the only city the two of them could agree upon as a perfect destination.

Matt flinched when a strong hand found his shoulder. He looked up into the dark eyes of his adoptive father, and reached out to take his hand.

His dad pulled him up to his feet and wrapped his arms around Matt. "She loved you, very much."

"I know," Matt muttered. "That's what makes it hard."

His dad let out a soft sigh, "I know."

He remembered that his adoptive father had once lost a spouse himself, and squeezed him harder. "Does it ever get easier?"

"No," his dad murmured. "I won't lie to you; the hole you feel in your chest right now is never going to go away. Not ever. What you have to do now, is learn to live with it."

Matt sniffed, and pulled himself away from the hug. "We better rejoin the others."

His dad clapped him on the back and let him lead the way.

Matt didn't look back until he was in the isolated safety of his own car. It was only then that he allowed himself that one last glance.

For a moment, he thought he could see her there. Leaning up against her headstone with the rose in her hand. Her dark hair was splayed out around her shoulders and she looked at him with eyes full of grief. The same grief he could feel within himself this very moment.

He blinked, and the vision was gone. Shaking himself, he started the ignition and followed the cars ahead of him out of the cemetery and down the road to the restaurant they were meeting in.

Matt never shed a tear.

* * *

_**Four Months Later.**_

It was months later when he finally found it within himself to pull out the tapes again. He wound up at his desk, typewriter at the ready with a mug of hot tea off to the side. Papers were littered all over his desk, hasty scribbles and notes scrawled across the pages. Each corresponded with a tape, each would help him piece together the story he was preparing to write.

He swallowed down a large mouthful of tea, and reached for the first tape. It was labeled with a simple letter _A_ written in red ink.

Matt popped it into his cassette player and readied his fingers over the typewriter keys.

"_So… How does this work? You ask me questions and I… Elaborate?"_

He smiled when her soft voice echoed through the static of the speakers. He could almost see her sitting in the armchair in front of him, like she used too during their sessions. And for one fleeting moment his world seemed a bit brighter.

"_More like I start you off with a single question and you go off from it. Talk about whatever you want to, or don't. Whatever you don't want published will remain confidential; you just have to tell me. Or not share, it's up to you."_

His own clinical tone brought him back down to reality, and the room seemed even colder than before.

"_How do you mean, 'tell you?' Like a safe word?"_

Matt heard himself chuckle. _"Yeah, like… I dunno… Blue birds or something like that."_

He remembered her smiling over that. _"Naw, Bluebirds are boring. How about… Bowties?"_

He shuddered, and crunched the papers in his hand, fighting the urge not to cry. He could still see her face when she said this, he could still remember that flirty smile that still made his heart skip a beat.

"_Oi! Bowties are cool."_

"_Whatever you say Chinboy."_

Matt reached out and snapped the tape off. The static cut off and the spindles of the machine slowed until the room was silent again. He shoved himself away from his desk, rubbing his eyes and coming around to her armchair.

"Clara," He whispered hoarsely, "Please come back."

The chair stayed empty and the room stayed silent. Matt dropped to his knees in front of the chair and pulled out her ring from underneath his shirt. He kept the small band on a chain around his neck, hidden away from the public eye.

He brought the cool piece of metal to his lips and shut his eyes tightly.

"I love you," He whimpered.

He was answered with silence.


	2. Chapter 2: Clara Oswald

Chapter 1: Clara Oswald.

Clara Oswald had always been your typical, average little girl who grew up in a small house with two loving parents. She loved pretending to be a princess, went to school, and had many little friends she liked to play with. As she grew up these friends would dwindle until it was only a few trusted peers she kept close. And that was fine, Clara liked it better that way. Among other hobbies she was an avid reader and loved to write endlessly. She had a book titled _101_ _places to see_ in which she listed every place she ever wanted to go. All in all, Clara Oswald was a happy, healthy kid.

This all changed when her mother died.

She was only sixteen years old when it happened. It was a freak accident they said. Something that could have been easily avoided.

She knew better of course, she was there.

It had been raining as her mother drove the two of them home after a long day. They were arguing-Clara wanted to attend a party her friend Sonya had suggested but her mother was very firm in her decision that she would not be going.

"No!" She shouted over Clara's whining, "And that's the end of it, do you hear?"

They were both still, glaring at each other while they waited for the light to turn green.

That's when it happened.

The driver came out of nowhere, just like all the eyewitness reports said. He went flying through the intersection, hydroplaning across the pavement to slam right into their car. Clara screamed as they rolled, covering her face as the windshield exploded, sending glass flying everywhere.

"Clara!" Her mum had screamed.

Clara had blacked out after that, not remembering when the EMT's had loaded her into the ambulance. She didn't remember them driving her to the hospital, or the surgery they had to perform. She had four broken ribs, a fractured femur, and severe head trauma.

She had woken up to the sounds of a heart monitor and her father's voice.

"Hey," He smiled down at her as she blinked away the fogginess in her eyes.

Clara looked around with confusion, "Where am I?"

"You're in Barnet General Hospital. You were brought here after you and your mum got hit by another car, do you remember?" He swiped a hair from her forehead gently, but it still made her wince.

She nodded, "Where's mum? Did they take her somewhere? Is she okay?"

Her dad's eyes filled with a grief that scared her. "Clara… Your mum… She- she went right through the windshield. She died, sweetheart."

Clara only stared, "No. I don't believe you."

"Clara…"

"No!" She thrashed against him, yanking out the tubes that were still connected to her skin. It hurt, terribly, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "No let me see her! You're a liar!"

"Nurse!" Her dad shouted out the open door, "I need some help in here! Clara, you just need to calm down for me, alright?"

"No!" She screeched again when the orderlies ran in to restrain her, "No, let me go! Liars!"

They jabbed her with a needle, and Clara soon felt the effects of the sedative.

"No…" She whimpered, and blacked out again.

It was in that same hospital where she met Nina.

Clara had been dozing off when she heard the door to her room squeak open and shut. She let out a soft moan when her bedside light flickered on and struggled to open her eyes.

"What do you want dad?" She whimpered and pulled the blankets up over her head.

She was answered with a soft chuckle. "Sorry, think I got turned around in the hallway, must be in the wrong room again." The unfamiliar voice was quiet with a soft American accent.

Clara tossed the blanket away and sat up. There was a girl standing in the shadows of her room. She was petite like Clara, with heavy dark hair that came over her shoulders in perfect ringlets. Her skin was a rich brown under the dim light of the room, and her eyes were an even darker chocolate color.

"Who are you?" Clara demanded sleepily.

"Sorry, name's Nina." The girl walked forward to shake her hand, "I'm in the room a couple of doors down I think. Not sure really, this place is such a maze. Do you mind if I…?" Nina gestured towards the chair by Clara's bed.

Clara smiled warmly. "Not at all, I'd love the company."

Nina gave her a bright smile and curled up into the chair. "So, Clara, what'd they get you in here for?"

Clara bit her lip and looked down at the sheets. "My mum and I got in a car accident." She mentally corrected the word accident in her head, she knew better after all.

Nina reached forward to squeeze her hand, "I'm so sorry."

Clara let out a small smile, "What about you?"

The girl in front of her suddenly drew back, curling in on herself. "They all think I'm crazy."

"Who does?"

"Them," Nina waved her hand, "The doctors, my family… _Them_." Nina looked at Clara like she should know exactly what she was talking about.

"Ah," Clara whispered. "I see."

"I mean, I might be a little nuts, but then again, they could be a little nuts too. It's funny how people forget that." Nina saw Clara's alarmed expression over her disjointed statement and bit her lip. "I didn't do anything wrong," she muttered.

Clara reached out to lay a hand on Nina's leg, "I'm sure you didn't."

Nina smiled and glanced over at the clock. "I best be going before they catch me fraternizing with another patient." She stood and stopped at the door to smile at Clara, "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," Clara smiled, although she doubted it was true, "Be seeing you."

She didn't see Nina again during her stay at the hospital. She kept looking for her, even asking the nurses if they knew where she was. None of them had seen her but they all promised Clara they would keep an eye out. Eventually Clara assumed she'd already checked out, and swallowed down her disappointment that Nina hadn't stopped to say goodbye. She shouldn't have expected that, she'd only just met her.

It wasn't until she was out of the hospital that she saw her again.

It was shortly after her mum's funeral. Clara was hiding away in the small garden just off the restaurant her father had picked for them to meet at. She'd spent the whole day accepting hugs and kisses and answering questions she didn't have the energy for. She was _tired_, and her body was still sore despite the fact that it had been months since the accident.

She stared at the tiny fountain without really seeing it, and jumped when someone sat down beside her.

"Hey there patient," Nina gave her a saucy grin. "How're you holding up?"

"How… How did you know to find me here?" Clara rasped, trying in vain to clear the tears from her throat.

Nina's grin softened when she held up a newspaper. "Would you believe that they still print obituaries?"

Clara only stared at her, a slight feeling of unease pooling in her stomach.

"Sorry," Nina sighed. "It's just… We hospital girls gotta stick together right?"

Clara gave her a small smile. "Yeah, guess so."

Her new friend beamed and wrapped her arm around Clara's shoulders. "It's you an' me from now on Clara. From this night on you'll never be alone, I'm always gonna be here for you. I promise."

Clara grinned, "Even if I go a little mad?"

Nina laughed, "_Especially_ if you go a little crazy." She glanced at Clara, and held up her pinkie, "Let's swear to it. I'll always be here for you if you're always here for me."

Clara let out a small laugh and locked her pinkie around Nina's. "I swear."

"Clara!" She heard her father call.

She sighed heavily and glanced back. "I s'pose that's my cue to leave… You can come, if you want."

Nina's smile became a little too forced, and she retracted her arm. "Naw, I'll leave that party for you."

"But-"

"Clara!" Her dad sounded closer now.

"Coming!" Clara called back.

"You should go," Nina said quietly.

She turned to argue further, but by the time she had Nina was gone.

As the years wore on Clara's life seemed to slowly be falling apart. Her ever perfect grades began slipping after her return to school and no matter what the teachers and tutors tried to do for her she just couldn't _focus_. That was the heart of the problem really; she would do just fine in her classes if she could only _concentrate_ on them. Instead, her thoughts were always full of Nina. Where she might be, when she would decide to visit Clara again, what wild adventure she would pull them into next.

Her friends noticed how withdrawn she was after her return. They tried to help her, inviting her to parties and social gatherings they were attending, trying to get Clara to open up to them with forced interventions and surprise sleepovers. But the more they tried the more Clara pulled away. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to her friends anymore, she still loved them dearly. It was more like she couldn't. Every time she tried to get the words out they would get stuck in her throat and she would end up standing awkwardly. She found just talking to people was becoming increasingly difficult, and standing up in front of the class was torture.

It was around her seventeenth birthday when the teasing began.

They called her every name they could think of. Clara would try to avoid them all by finding all the small hideaways and crevices of the school. Despite her efforts they always managed to find her. It was always the same group of kids that would come around. She'd never seen them on the campus before, so she assumed they were a year or two above or below her.

They were relentless, throwing food in her hair and hitting her until she was bruised from head to toe. Her dad never noticed, and that made her want to scream. He never reacted to anything anymore, and there wasn't anything she could do to capture his attention. She stayed out late with Nina, stumbling into the house during the tiny hours of the morning. She shouted at him, she slammed doors and trashed the house when he was gone. He never did a thing to stop her. He went to work, he spoke to her when she needed to complete some task, he slept, he drank, but he never raised his voice. He never once punished her.

This infuriated Clara, and she would spend hours locked in her room crying her eyes out. She would curl into a ball and try in vain to block out the voices of the kids from school. These were the times when Nina would show up, when Clara needed her the most. She had a way of blocking out the voices with her smile, making Clara forget about her troubles for a while.

Her phone rang, loud and shrill, momentarily halting the voices that were racing circles in her head.

She sniffed and answered without looking to see who it was, "Hello?"

"Hey there patient; guess who's standing under your window right now? Can you come out and play tonight?"

Clara swallowed. "Not tonight Nina, maybe some other time."

There was a pause. "Who hurt you?"

Clara let out a hard laugh. "No one, it just hasn't been a good day that's all. Think I might turn in early tonight… Nina?"

She jumped when there was a groan from outside her window. Nina was already up the tree by her bedroom trying to force the window open from the outside.

Clara stood and opened it for her, stepping out of the way when she tumbled to the floor.

"And she sticks the landing!" Nina jumped to her feet, tossing her hair out of her face, "I'd give that one a ten, what do you think?"

Clara raised her eyebrows. "Why did you just climb through my window?"

Her face softened. "You needed me. I couldn't just let you suffer in silence now could I?"

Clara swallowed and turned away to sit back down on her bed. Nina followed her, kicking off her shoes and sitting cross-legged on her covers.

"Was it bad today?" She murmured.

Clara bit her lip. "Yes and no. My report card came in today; I got all C's this time around."

"Well that's good isn't it? It's better than last time," Nina gave her a smile and squeezed her arm.

"Yeah, it is 'course it is. But when I showed it to dad he barely even batted an eye. Didn't smile, didn't congratulate me, nothing. His expression didn't even change! He just sat there with his drink staring at the walls!" She pounded her fists into her bed, "I hate him sometimes."

"No you don't," Nina murmured soothingly.

"No I don't," She repeated, "But I would like to. Things would be so much simpler if I could hate him."

Both girls looked up when the sound of footsteps started echoing down the hallway.

"I've gotta go," Nina stood and half ran for the window.

"Why?" Clara demanded, "Why do you always rush off just when someone's about to meet you?"

She only smiled at Clara, "See you around patient."

"Clara who are you talking to?" Her dad burst through the door.

Clara jumped and spun around on her heel. "Nina, she just left."

Her dad came over to join her by the window. "I don't see anyone…"

Clara shrugged, "like I said, she left."

Mr. Oswald gave his daughter a doubtful look and backed out of the room. "Oh by the way, good job on the grades."

Clara froze, her hand stuck to the window lock. A slow smile spread across her face, "Thank you!"

* * *

It was just shortly after her eighteenth birthday when she began to notice the changes in Nina. Her friend seemed agitated, always looking over her shoulder as though she were searching for someone. Her temper grew short and more often than not she and Clara would end their adventures with a shouting match. The last time Clara had seen her Nina had grown so angry she'd reached out and slapped Clara right across the cheek.

She tried her best to avoid Nina after that.

Clara was at her job in the little bookstore just down the street from her home when Nina made her first appearance since the violent encounter. She looked haggard, her usually perfect hair tangled up in knots, her clothing crumpled and torn. She wore sunglasses over her eyes, and when she took them off Clara had to blink to realize the dark bruises under Nina's eyes were due to lack of sleep.

"I need to speak with you," She hissed as she passed Clara for the backroom.

Clara glanced around to check for any unwanted observers before following Nina to the back.

Her friend glanced over her shoulder before pulling out an envelope. "Clara there are things I've kept from you, things I think you should know now."

Clara blinked. "What things?"

Nina sighed heavily. "First of all, my name isn't even Nina. That's just an alias I made up when I was assigned to this country. I'm an intelligence operative, and I've been working for the British government for the last couple of years trying to take down the secret terrorist network hidden under the city."

I raised my eyebrows, "You _know_ I don't believe any of this, right?"

She pushed the envelope towards me. "No, I wouldn't expect you to. But I promised to always have your back, and I have. I did some digging, and I'm sorry Clara, but it turns out your mother's accident wasn't so much an accident."

"What?" I whispered.

"Just… Read what's inside the envelope," Nina bit her lip, "it'll tell you everything you need to know."

I looked down at the heavy folder in my hands, "But why give me this?"

She paused, "Like I said, I promised to always be there for you. And soon, very soon, I'm going to need you to be there for me. There are instructions inside your envelope, meet me at the rendezvous point and don't be late. I'll call you after your shift ends."

Clara blinked, and she was gone.

She spent the whole day preoccupied by that envelope. The minutes seemed to tick by extra slowly as it glared at her from the counter where she'd left it. She could see people looking at it, speculating it with a malevolent desire. Some of them knew, she could tell. They knew what was inside, and they didn't want her to have it. Clara could tell by the way they approached the counter with their eyes fixed on her envelope.

When it was finally closing time she said goodnight to the manager and then started out for the short walk home. The whole time Clara felt as though someone was watching her, and she swore she caught sight of a dark van following her from a distance.

Clara unlocked her front door with shaky fingers, almost tripping in her hurry to shut it tightly behind her.

She relaxed as soon as the door was safely locked again, slumping against the wood for just a moment. She was alone; her dad wouldn't be home until he got off work later that evening. It had taken her months but she had finally convinced him to go back. At least now with his routine back in place he might have a reason to cut back on his drinking habit. That was her hope anyway.

Clara let out a shaky breath and pulled the envelope from her bag. She took a moment just to stare at it, debating whether she should open it or not. She knew Nina was telling the truth even though it all sounded crazy, Nina would never lie to her. They would protect each other for life-she'd promised that much.

With a tremendous gulp of air she ripped open the top and pulled out the documents. Her eyes scanned over the print, and the more she read the more her blood ran ice-cold. According to the papers she was holding her mother had been a part of some secret agency for years. _That_ was why the man had hit them; he was part of a terrorist organization. The same organization Nina had spoken of earlier.

Clara sat down with a huff, flipping through the many photos of her and her mum while trying to deny the evidence in front of her.

The sound of her phone made Clara shriek. She picked it up with shaky hands and answered the familiar number. "Nina?"

"Do you believe me now?"

She swallowed. "Yes."

"Clara, you're in danger. The men who killed your mother want you also, and-"

"Why?" Clara demanded.

Nina sighed heavily, "They think you have information about a project your mother was working on. Clara listen, these men will _kill_ you and your dad if they think you're still alive."

"So what do I do?" Clara's voice shook and she glanced through the front window before drawing the curtains shut.

"You're not gonna like it…" Her friend muttered.

"Nina, just tell me," She growled.

"They need to think you died."

Clara was quiet for a long moment.

"Clara?" Nina whispered.

She let out a shaky breath. "Okay. Just tell me what I need to do."

Her dad had pulled up just as she was about to go through with it. He had been frantic, screaming and shaking her while the emergency services pulled up. She'd fought them, yelling and kicking when they dragged her into an ambulance. Everyone was shouting, calling her names and taunting her.

"They've got you now Clara!" Someone hissed.

She heard a loud giggle, "We'll see you soon patient."

"Nina!" She shrieked when they slammed the ambulance doors shut. Clara could see her friend watching her from across the street, sunglasses concealing her expression. "Nina help me!" She felt the rumble of the truck and pounded against the glass, "Help!"

The first few days in the hospital she was kept strapped down to a bed. She screamed and fought against her restraints, begging for Nina to find her. She had seen the janitors watching her; she knew they were just waiting for their chance to strike. Nina had warned her that the terrorist organization had operatives everywhere. Even here, in this place of supposed safety. She needed to escape.

The doctors put her on a heavy dose of sedatives, keeping her strapped down for a few more days before finally letting her get up.

Her first meeting after being set free from her restraints was with a Dr. Jones, a kind young woman who's first thought was to make sure Clara was comfortable.

She sank down in a chair across from Dr. Jones, glancing out of the window to watch the shopkeeper across the street.

"Now then, Clara, do you know why you've been brought here?" Dr. Jones asked in a polite tone.

Clara shrugged.

Miss Jones scribbled something down on a notepad and glanced back up at her. "Clara do you ever find it hard to concentrate? Do you ever have problems connecting with people-your friends, family?"

"Um…" Clara was momentarily distracted when the shopkeeper waved at someone, "Yes." She watched the doctor scribble more notes. "Where's Nina?"

Dr. Jones glanced up. "Who's Nina?"

"My friend, where is she? I saw her when they came to take me, it's very important that I find her."

"Why is it important?"

Clara swallowed, and shrank away. "It just is."

Miss Jones leaned forward, "You're safe here Clara, you know that right? You can tell me anything."

"No I can't," Clara countered, "You might be working for them."

Concern crossed the young doctor's face, "For who Clara?"

"The terrorists," she felt her hands starting to shake, "Nina told me they were everywhere."

"Did she? Well, I can assure you that there aren't any terrorists working in this hospital," Miss Jones offered Clara a smile.

Clara relaxed a little, and timidly smiled back. Dr. Jones spent most of the session asking her endless questions about her life: school, friends, everyday activities. Clara answered most of the questions easily, only hesitating when Dr. Jones started asking about her dad. He hadn't come in to see her during her stay here. Clara was sure he would, she had seen the reaction her actions had caused. She had been so proud to see that reaction, but despite her efforts her father kept a safe distance between himself and his daughter, instead using the telephone and holiday cards as a way to communicate.

She spent the next three months in that asylum. The doctors diagnosed her with a form of schizophrenia, among other things. Clara hadn't believed them at first, still half convinced they were all in on a plot to kill her. Eventually though, as she started taking her medication regularly the world began to look less dark around the edges.

In the beginning she would see Nina around the hospital. She would be watching from a distance usually, circling the hospital while searching for a point of entry. But as Clara continued to take her medication and submit to the therapy sessions with Dr. Jones she started seeing Nina less and less, until she didn't see her at all.

And still, even when Dr. Jones had informed her father of her progress he stayed away. He would call her occasionally, sending her holiday cards throughout the year, but he stayed away. She asked him about it once, during one of their few phone calls.

He had sighed heavily. "I'm just busy Clara, it's not like I don't want to see you but I've got work. There are so many things I have to pay for, what with you in hospital and your mum's passing… I'll try, okay? I'll try."

Clara had swallowed down her hurt. "Yeah, okay dad."

* * *

It was shortly after her nineteenth birthday when Clara was finally released from the hospital. Dr. Jones had one condition—that she didn't live alone. Her father had turned her away, claiming he was moving for work and didn't want to uproot his daughter so soon after her stay in the asylum.

Clara hadn't missed his choice of words.

Instead, she would be staying with her aunt Linda. The first few days were awful; her aunt had a way of hovering. She was constantly in Clara's face about everything, almost as if she thought she could mold her niece by presenting herself with enough self-importance and arrogance. Clara was unimpressed, and spent most of her time either at the bookstore or in her room.

It was only a handful of months later when Clara received a call.

"Clara! Phone!" Her aunt shoved the landline at her, "It's your doctor."

She snatched the receiver. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello Clara this is Dr. Jones from the psychiatric hospital. I'm so sorry to bother you, but I got a rather unusual request from a young journalist today that I believe might benefit you."

Clara blinked, "How could a journalist possibly benefit me?"

"Well, he told me he's looking for a subject to base a book on. Sounds like he wants a primary source to base his story off of, and I was wondering if you would be interested. Of course, it's your choice and if you want I can take steps to ensure anything you reveal to this man that you don't want published remains confidential, but I believe it might be very therapeutic for you."

She took a moment to think about it. "I don't know Miss Jones, I'm not sure I'd be very comfortable with the idea."

"I understand, but I have a number for you if you decide to go through with it."

"I'd like that, thanks."

Miss Jones read out the number to her, and hung up shortly after that. Clara spent the rest of that night thinking about the possibility. It wasn't conventional therapy, that she knew, but it sounded so tempting. To be able to talk to someone with an outside perspective, someone who wasn't a doctor or a friend or a family member, but an objective viewpoint.

Two days later, Clara called the number.

"Hello this is Smith speaking," A warm male voice picked up the phone.

"Hi, my name's Clara Oswald. I was told you went to Dr. Jones at Priory hospital looking for someone like me." She sounded nervous, and tried to shut down the butterflies in her stomach.

"Ah yes! Clara, I'd love to meet with you. How does tomorrow at the Timberyard sound? We could meet around eleven or so."

"Great," Clara smiled, "I'll see you soon."

"I look forward to it." Mr. Smith said before hanging up.

"What are you smiling about?" Linda snipped when Clara skipped past her.

She shrugged, "Just a good day. Goodnight Aunt Linda."

That night Clara barely got any sleep. She spent most of her night tossing and turning, and the sleep she did get was riddled with nightmares.

She woke screaming to her alarm, smashing down on the buttons in a mad attempt to shut it off. She stayed still for a few moments, trying to catch her breath. The horrifying images of her dreams playing out behind her eyelids as her heart slowed.

Clara sucked in a deep breath, and hauled herself out of bed.

It took her no time at all to get ready that morning. She was showered and dressed within a half hour, pills taken and breakfast eaten.

"Morning Linda," She smiled when her aunt shuffled into the kitchen.

"Did you take your meds?" Linda grumbled.

"Yep, and I don't know when I'll be home yet but I'll text you." She kissed her aunt's cheek and spun out of the door, "See you later!"

Clara left the house that morning with a nervous flutter in her stomach. She was still uneasy with the idea of talking to this mysterious Mr. Smith, but she was going to give it a try. She promised herself to take Dr. Jones up on her offer to protect her with confidentially, and set out for the café.

By the time the taxi dropped her off in front of the coffee-house Clara had nearly turned back four times. The harmless butterflies had turned into a full-blown terror that threatened to pull her into a panic attack.

She stopped just outside of the doors and pulled in a deep breath, she could do this.

Without giving herself time to think about the consequences of what she was about to do Clara boldly marched into the small shop and grabbed the attention of one of the staff members.

"Excuse me; I'm looking for a Mr. Smith."

The young boy pointed towards a corner booth that was tucked away from all the other noise. "Right back there miss."

Clara gave him a smile. "Thank you."

He sent her a nod and went back to cleaning tables. Clara hesitantly made her way over to the booth, feeling the butterflies jumble up again when Mr. Smith came into view. He had a lanky, skinny form with long legs stretched out into the aisle. His brown hair flopped over into a slight curl above his forehead, and Clara couldn't help her slight smile when she saw his chin. It stuck out proudly from the rest of his face, somehow managing to make him look quirky without being obnoxious.

In an attempt to rekindle her courage she sucked in a breath of air, and opened her mouth to speak.

* * *

**I'd like to take a quick moment here to make a point. As you are all aware now, in this story Clara suffers from schizophrenia. I just want to point out that the way in which I have and will be portraying this illness in this story is based on a _very_ specific case that I came across during my research. Not all people who suffer from schizophrenia have hallucinations or delusions of this magnitude. By definition schizophrenia is said to distort a person's: thoughts, acts, expression of emotions, perception of reality, and relations to others. For some that doesn't include wild hallucinations or major delusions. There are many people who live normal, healthy lives while dealing with this disease. As I write this I am trying to do my absolute best to be sensitive to the subject, so if any of you read something I have written that is wildly incorrect or offensive _please_ do not hesitate to make me aware of it.**

** Lastly, part of the purpose behind this story is to raise awareness for a growing epidemic in our modern world. If you notice that you or a loved one has begun to show some of the characteristic signs of schizophrenia, some of which include: loss of appetite, loss of hygiene, disorganized speech, social withdrawal, difficulties with focus etc. I encourage you to seek help right away.**

**Note: I changed the rating to M simply due to the subject matter but _not because of any explicit scenes or overly coarse language. _Thank you, and sorry for the ridiculously long author's note.**


	3. Chapter 3: Matt Smith

**Okay, after this chapter things will get a bit more lighthearted, I promise. Please enjoy, and if you can, review!**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Matt Smith.**

John Matthew Smith was a journalist. He'd always wanted to be a full author, with a proper publishing deal and all of that, but somehow the opportunity had never arisen. That is, not until after his boss approached him with an assignment to write an exposé on a local mental health facility. He had grumbled about it, but stayed quiet when best mate Jack teased him. It seemed to Matt that he always ended up with the articles nobody else wanted. Of course, he was still fresh out of university with, as his boss put it, a "Naïve view of the world" so, really, he shouldn't expect anything more.

So, instead of fulfilling his dreams by writing the stories that made headlines and working on his novel in his free time Matt Smith was stuck behind a desk, writing about cats stuck in trees and lost bicycles.

That is, until he was assigned to this article on Priory hospital.

As it turns out, Matt was no stranger to mental illness. For the first fourteen years of his life he grew up in a household with one alcoholic father and a mother that suffered from major depression. He blamed most of that depression on his father—he'd seen the photos. His mother looked so happy in all of their pictures around the house, that is, until shortly after she'd married his father. That was when the smiles were replaced with a blank look that sent shivers down a young Matt's spine.

His mum was beautiful when she smiled, her gentle eyes lit up with a soft glow and her cheeks dimpled around the corners of her mouth. Without that smile she looked lost and alone. Her face was drawn, drooping at the eyes and mouth in a way that wasn't healthy. Her skin had turned a sallow grey and the dark bruises seemed to be a permanent fixture under her eyes. _Sad_ was the only word Matt could think of that adequately described his mother's appearance, she looked sad.

His father liked to beat on Matt and his mum. He used to lie around the house nursing a bottle, waiting until the two of them got home to release the rage he kept pent-up in his heart. He would go after Matt first, knowing it would get a rise out of his mum.

"C'mere you little-"

"Paul!" His mum screeched when Matt's father yanked him by the shirt, twisting seven-year-old Matt's arm behind his back just to hear the boy cry.

"Shut up May!" Paul shouted, and shoved Matt aside now that he'd served his purpose. His mum cowered when his father loomed over her. "How I discipline my boy is my business."

His mum shied away from Paul's hot breath. "He's my son too Paul."

Paul slapped her across the cheek, smirking when she cried out. "See May? That's what happens when you misbehave. Be careful now or I'm going to have to punish you too." His words were slurring together, his body a bit wobbly as he tried to support himself on spindly legs.

Matt ran to his mum after Paul stumbled back into the kitchen for another drink. May was staring out into space, one hand cradling the spot her husband had just slapped.

"Mum?" Matt's voice was shaky.

She blinked and took her son into her arms. "Now you listen to me Matt, I want you to escape this house. I want you to go upstairs, pack a bag, and _run_. Get as far away from this place as you can."

He looked up at her with wide eyes, "But what about you?"

His mum got that faraway look in her eyes again. "I need to stay. I deserve this, but you don't. That's why I need you to do this for me."

Matt shook his head violently. "No mummy, I'm not leaving without you."

"You've got to baby," She whispered.

"No!" He shouted.

"Oi, What're you two whispering about in there ay?" Paul stuck his head into the room with a fresh beer in hand.

May gulped. "Nothing dear, go back into the kitchen."

He glared at Matt for a moment. "Are you upsettin' your mum?"

Matt shook his head. "No father."

Paul's glare deepened and he stumbled towards them. "Are you lying to me?"

The dangerous tone his father had slipped into had not registered with Matt, but his mum knew it well. It was often the tone he used before her worst beatings. "No dear! Matt's fine, I just need to get him to bed 's all."

Matt didn't struggle when she gripped his hand tightly and hauled him up the stairs to his room. Well, mostly his room. More often than not he shared it with his mum when she needed to hide from Paul.

As soon as they were inside May locked the door tightly and rested her head against the wood. "That was too close."

"Mum?"

His mum took in a deep breath, "What is it sweetie?"

"Why are you still with Paul?" Matt asked innocently.

She stiffened, gripping the door handle with more force than was necessary. "It's time for bed Mattie."

He blinked, his mum only called him Mattie when she was at her saddest. He obediently allowed her to change him into a nightie, staying quiet as she changed and crawled into bed beside him. Downstairs he could hear his father stumbling into things, cursing at the top of his lungs when something that sounded like glass hit the floor.

Matt huffed, and went to sleep.

This pattern continued for the next seven years of Matt's life. Things would be good for a while; his father would promise to quit his drinking. He'd start off well on his way, entering into rehabilitation centers and group therapy sessions. His mother would start to hope as the weeks would go on, and Matt would begin to see a hint of that smile on her face again.

But then, just as things were looking up they would always go bad.

His parents would get into a fight, it didn't matter about what. More often than not it was money, his mother was taking an expensive medication for her depression and his father refused to believe that she actually needed it. It was his sound belief that the depression was all in her head, that in reality she was just fine. He would call her things like "attention seeker" and "pill popper" and his mother would shout back with "alcoholic" and "abusive." Eventually the arguments would become so heated they would start to throw things at each other, which always ended up with his mother having fresh bruises to nurse.

On one such occasion Matt stayed trapped in the kitchen until they were finished screaming. He heard the door to his bedroom slam, and held his breath as silence started to blanket the whole house.

He waited until he could hear his father moving again to venture out of his hiding place.

"What are you doing?" Matt demanded when he saw Paul going for the alcohol he kept locked in a cabinet.

"What does it look like?" His father's tone was gruff, sending up a warning flag in Matt's head.

"Don't do this, not now, not this time." Matt urged.

Paul whirled around to glare at his son. "Don't tell me what to do!"

He shrank back, holding his hands up in front of his face in a defensive move. "I'm going." He half ran up the stairs, stopping in front of his door. Matt gave it a light rap, "Mum? It's me."

He could hear no sounds coming from the other side of the door. "Mum?" He tested the door; it was locked, "Mum?" He jiggled the handle furiously when panic started to take hold of his heart. Frantically he felt along the top of the door frame for the key, he could hear the window creaking open inside. He knew his mum would be at her most vulnerable right now, and for a moment he wondered if she was planning to jump. They lived in an apartment on the sixth story, and it wouldn't be the first time Matt had been forced to keep her from making this decision.

"Come on!" He shouted at the door when the key wouldn't fit. He could hear the window slamming closed again. Matt prayed to anyone that was listening that she hadn't gone out to the fire escape.

He shoved the door open when the lock finally turned, causing it to smack into the opposite wall. "Mum!" He shrieked, rushing to the window.

He froze, he couldn't believe his eyes. Outside he heard people shouting, he saw them when they rushed over to the scene. He heard it when the sirens started wailing in the distance, and briefly wondered if they were the ones that would be heading this way.

He stood staring out of the grimy window. A small bird had landed on the railing of the fire escape, taking a moment to clean its wings. Matt was fascinated by the small creature, using it as a way to focus his mind to keep it from raging out of control.

Downstairs, his father started singing.

* * *

It was just before his fifteenth birthday when social services took Matt away from his father and shoved him into foster care. The police had arrested his father at a drugs bust only a few streets over from their apartment. Matt had never been aware that Paul had sunk so low, and was shocked to open his front door and come face to face with two police officers who wanted to take him into their station for questioning.

Once it had become clear to the police that Matt hadn't been a part of his father's illegal activities social services stepped in with a court case to try to get Paul away from Matt. Within months Matt's father was jailed, their apartment was sold and Matt was shipped off to a foster home in Leadworth.

It was here that he met his best friend.

His foster parent's names were Ron and Carroll Donald; they lived in a small house not too far away from the only post office in town. Besides Matt there were two other teenage foster children living in the home—Jack and Amelia.

He met Jack first.

"Your room is just down there and to the left, you have a roommate," Mrs. Donald pointed and gave Matt a kind smile.

He smiled back. "Thanks Mrs. Donald."

She scoffed, "Oh sweetie, call me Carroll."

His smile widened. "Thanks Carroll." He followed her directions to an open doorway, clinging to his rucksack tightly. Inside were all the things he had ever owned: a few pairs of clothes, a photo album dedicated to his mum, and a set of toiletries.

Matt knocked on the door frame. "Hello?"

A boy around Matt's age glanced up from where he was reading on a bed. He was long and lean; with spiky hair that seemed to be gelled to perfection, light blue eyes and a sharply defined face.

The boy raised an eyebrow and glanced Matt up and down in a way that made him blush, "You my new roomie?"

He was taken back in surprise over the American accent, but finally nodded while attempting to clear his throat. "Ah—yes, I s'pose I am."

The boy leaped off the bed and offered his hand with a flirtatious glint in his eyes. "Well _hello_. Name's Jack Harkness, but all my friends just call me Jack. Can I just say that I've always really had a thing for bowties? It takes a real man to pull off such a stylish article of clothing, and yours suits you nicely." He winked.

Matt opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a moment. "I—that is—well… Thanks. No, but thanks."

Jack laughed and held up his hands. "Hey, don't worry about it. We have an unspoken rule here; we can date anyone we like as long as they don't live under this roof. You know what I'm saying?"

"I uh… I guess so," Matt gulped and glanced at the other bed in the room. "That mine?"

Jack glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "Here, lemme help." He took Matt's rucksack and set it down next to the bed, looking surprised when he felt how light it was. He gave Matt a curious look, "This your first time in foster care?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

Jack cocked his head to the side. "Parents…?"

Matt swallowed and glanced away, "Dead." He hoped Jack would let the subject drop, tightening his fists to try to fight off the panic he could feel coming.

To his relief, his roommate didn't press him. "Anyway, you should go meet Amelia. I think she's out in the garden at the moment. I show you," He grabbed Matt by the hand and pulled him through the house to the back door, "Right out there." He pointed.

Matt squinted against the glare of the sun, and caught sight of a head of vibrant ginger hair. Amelia was tall, with pale skin and a round face. Matt opened the door and stepped out into the yard, taking a few steps toward her as she looked up. She smiled at him, her green eyes lighting up with welcome.

"Hello there!" She called with a Scottish trill in her voice. "You must be Matt, heard you were coming." She stood and wiped her knees, extending one small hand to him.

He grinned widely and took her offering. "Just got in, you must be Amelia. Jack was telling me about you."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, it's Amy—Amy Pond, and as a word of advice: don't believe everything Jack says. He can be a bit… Flamboyant."

"Hey!" Jack cried from his place on the patio. "I'm very well behaved!"

Amy crossed her arms and huffed. "Whatever you say, Jack." She smiled at Matt apologetically, "So, where are you from then?"

"Northampton."

"Ah, I know it. Spent some time up there in a foster home a few years back," Amy seemed to get lost in a memory for a moment before shaking herself.

"If you don't mind me asking… How long have you two been, you know…" Matt blushed, stuttering over his words and feeling like an intruder for asking such a question.

"I think I was eight years old when I went into my first home," Jack mused.

Matt blinked, "So young?"

He shrugged. "Not really, there are kids who spend their whole lives in foster care. I got lucky; I had two parents that loved me. Those are memories that can't be taken away."

Matt nodded, understanding. "Amy?"

The redhead's facial expression was closed off, and she abruptly marched past the boys for the house. "Excuse me."

Matt blinked and glanced at Jack. "Should I not ask questions like that?"

Jack sighed heavily. "Amelia never knew her parents. She's one of those kids who have spent their whole lives in foster care."

Matt looked back through the kitchen window, where he could see Amy washing something. "I take it that's not something she likes to talk about."

Jack pulled in a deep breath and gave Matt a pat on the shoulder. "C'mon, Carroll was starting dinner before you got here and I'm sure she wants some help."

* * *

Matt spent about a year in that house with Amy and Jack until he met David and Rose Tyler. They were a young couple with one other teenaged daughter they had adopted years ago. Rose couldn't have children, but the two of them had wanted children so badly they turned to adoption as a solution. Now they were looking for another addition to their family, and they wanted Matt.

He'd met them several weeks ago at the school where David worked. It was an accident really, the Donald's and the Tyler's had always been good friends and Carroll had asked Matt to deliver a banana cream pie to David that day as a holiday treat.

Matt had stepped into the warm classroom with the pie in hand. Except for where David sat at his desk the room was empty.

Dr. Tyler glanced up and set his pen down. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Hi, my name's Matt, I'm a new resident at the Donald house. Carroll just wanted me to bring over this banana cream pie she made as a holiday gift," Matt set the treat down on his desk with a nervous smile.

Dr. Tyler grinned at him widely. "Did she? And how do you like the Donald household Matt?"

He grinned. "'S great, Carroll and Don are really kind. I got very lucky."

"That you did," David said quietly and abruptly stood. "Well, I think I better lock up for the night. Mind helping me carry a few things out to my car?"

"Not at all," Matt said and took the boxes he was handed. "What is it you teach, if you don't mind me asking."

"Physics my boy!" The professor gave him a manic smile. "Always was my favorite subject in school, and I never wanted to be anything other than a teacher. Why not put the two together?" He glanced at Matt. "What about you? Any plans?"

Matt shrugged. "Dunno, figure I'll do sixth form and get my A-levels. Other than that I have no idea."

"Well come on, you must have some dream you've always wanted to accomplish." David pulled out his keys to lock the classroom door.

"Well…" Matt trailed off.

"Well?" Dr. Tyler prompted.

"Well, I've always had this dream of being an author. Used to make up little stories at school when I was a kid," He admitted with a blush. "Paul didn't like it, he used to tear them up, called me a prissy for writing them."

David gave him a concerned look. "Who's Paul?"

"My father," Matt said briskly.

"Where's your father now?" He closed his eyes, "Sorry, rude question. My wife always gets after me for that. Rude and not ginger as they say."

Matt gave him a smile. "No, it's fine. He's in jail now, got caught selling drugs not too far from our flat."

"Oh," David blinked, "I'm sorry to hear that."

He shrugged. "'S fine, I don't mind."

They stopped in front of a small car. "Where's your mum in all this, then?"

Matt's eyes darkened and he looked down at his feet. "She died."

They were both quiet for a moment until Dr. Tyler reached out to squeeze Matt's shoulder. "You know Matt; I'd love for you to meet my family sometime. Are you free for dinner anytime soon?"

"Yeah, yeah I'd like that. Thank you Dr. Tyler," Matt reached out to shake his hand again.

The professor smiled at him before getting in his car and driving away.

Everything seemed to move very quickly after that. Matt started going over for dinner at the Tyler household every Wednesday night. He adored Dr. Tyler's wife Rose, she was kind to him, always wanting to know things about Matt's life and even going so far as to prepare some of his favorite meals.

Dr. Tyler and Rose had one other daughter named Jenny whom they had adopted many years earlier. She was a blond ball of pure energy, taking after David so much sometimes Matt doubted that they weren't related in some way. He and Rose would joke quietly, saying they had known each other in a former life or that Jenny was David's clone somehow.

As the weeks turned into months and the month turned into a year Matt found that Wednesday evenings had become his favorite night of the week. He would leave for the Tyler house around six to help Rose with dinner, and stay until around nine. The four of them would always sit down together at a table to eat, which surprised Matt. In all his life he'd never had a proper sit-down meal with his family. He found he rather liked it; they would all swap stories from their week. Making jokes and sometimes laughing for so long the food went cold.

Despite all of this however, the day that Dr. and Mrs. Tyler announced they wanted to adopt Matt came at a complete surprise to him. But of course he accepted their offer. There had never been any doubt in his mind that he liked these people, and could maybe even grow to love them if given the chance.

"What did you do? Did you charm them, were you funny, what?" Jack asked as he helped Matt pack his now much heavier rucksack. "Oh! I've got it, you sweet-talked Jenny."

"I did not!" Matt cried out indignantly.

Jack winked. "Whatever you say mate, I saw the look in your eyes every time you came home. You were like a lovesick puppy!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Oi! Can't you boys ever keep it down?" Amy appeared in the doorway with crossed arms and an irritated expression. "Some of us are _trying_ to study."

Jack snorted. "Study? With that kid Rory here? I doubt it."

Amy's face turned as red as her hair. "Jack!"

His hands flew up, "Hey, don't kiss and tell, I get it. I'm just saying-"

Amy lurched forward and grabbed a pillow, quickly smacking Jack over the head and stomping out of the boys' room.

Matt and Jack glanced at each other, and burst into fits of giggles.

"No, but seriously though, how did you do it?" Jack asked once he'd caught his breath.

"Jack!"

* * *

As it turned out living as David and Rose's son had been the best thing that had ever happened to Matt. He spent the next couple of years living in a _home_, one where he knew without doubt that he would always be loved and protected in. He loved his adopted sister Jenny, and always saw her as flesh and blood. They treated each other like normal siblings would, right down to the bickering and slamming doors, but at the end of the day he could always count on her to be there for him.

Overall, the next few years were the happiest of his life, and soon enough Matt was finished with school and on his way to becoming a promising journalist at a high end newspaper in the Northern part of London.

That's where things started going wrong.

His boss liked him well enough, and Jack had wound up working as a journalist for the same paper so it wasn't like Matt was alone. It was just that all the other employees, his boss included, saw him as rather naïve and uncultured. They saw his floppy hair, childlike face, and eccentric clothing and immediately saw him as a big three year old. Which he wouldn't have a problem with, really, if it didn't mean he was stuck writing fluff articles.

"It isn't journalism!" He once complained to Jack, "It's—it's, oh I don't know, its sprinkles! The kind of sweet topping you put on the real cake."

Jack would just roll his eyes. "Just be patient, I'm sure they'll give you something good soon. You just need to prove yourself."

Matt grumbled, "Yeah, whatever."

It was with this same pessimistic attitude that Matt drove over to Priory hospital on his way to do an interview with a Dr. Jones on local mental health. He didn't expect to hear anything interesting really, and as he pulled up to the hospital his heart seemed to slowly sink down to its lowest.

With a tremendous sigh he grabbed his shoulder bag and stepped out of the car. The receptionists directed him to the office that was down the hall from the main lounge. Dr. Jones was a pretty young woman with a bright smile and a warm welcome. Her optimism and lighthearted manner soon began to wear off on Matt, and soon enough he found himself genuinely laughing along with her jokes.

It was at that very moment, in this tiny office in the corner of a mental hospital when the idea struck him. The idea that he'd been searching for all of his life—the inspiration for a novel.

He was on his way out when he spun around on his heel. "Dr. Jones? I'm sorry, but I have one last question, and it's more of a request really. You see, I hate being a journalist. I love writing, but I hate this job. I've always wanted to write a novel, and I had an idea that came to me not too long ago."

"And what was that?" Dr. Jones asked politely.

"Well… I wanted to write a story centered on mental illness and how an individual deals with that particular situation. I feel as though the story would do best if I was allowed access to someone who has been diagnosed already, and I was wondering if you knew anyone that would be willing to speak with me."

Dr. Jones stared at him for a moment. "Well… Obviously I can't give you any of my patient's personal information, but… I'll make a few calls; I can't promise anything but there might be someone willing to talk to you."

Matt reached forward to shake her hand one more time. "Thank you very much, I really appreciate it."

She took his hand. "Mind you, I can and will take legal action to ensure that they have every protection possible against you printing sensitive information they don't want published."

"Of course, I would expect no less."

"Alright then, it was nice to meet you Mr. Smith."

Matt smiled. "And you. Have a lovely day!"

"You too," She called as he half ran down the halls in a mad rush to get back to his car.

Once Matt was safely inside he took a moment to just sit and let what he had just done sink in. Of course, there were no guarantees that anyone would actually contact him. Despite how hard he tried to keep himself from hoping Matt couldn't help the tiny spark he could feel in his chest. He adjusted his bowtie, started his car, and drove away with a mad grin on his face.

He spent a week waiting for a phone call.

Despite his efforts not to hope, Matt was terribly disappointed when he didn't receive a call from anyone within the first few days after his interview at the hospital. He typed up his article, sending it in within a day or so for editing and nearly jumping out of his skin every time a phone rang.

Two weeks went by and he heard nothing.

Matt still refused to give up hope, he'd called Dr. Jones the other day to do a follow-up story on mental health and at the end of the conversation she had admitted she was still asking around for him. He thanked her, and hung up to type up the new article.

Three weeks went by and the sheer number of Pop star songs Matt was forced to review were starting to drive him insane.

Four weeks went by and still he heard nothing.

By the time a full month had ended Matt had given up all hopes of ever receiving a call from anyone, so when his mobile rang late that evening he answered it thinking it was for work or telemarketing.

"Hello this is Smith speaking," He said groggily.

"Hi, my name's Clara Oswald. I was told you went to Dr. Jones at Priory hospital looking for someone like me," A small female voice came through the speaker, and Matt couldn't believe his ears.

Excitement made his heart flutter. "Ah yes! Clara, I'd love to meet with you. How does tomorrow at the Timberyard sound? We could meet around eleven or so." Matt tried not to sound too eager, but he couldn't help the mad rush of words coming from his mouth.

"Great," Clara said enthusiastically, "I'll see you soon."

"I look forward to it," Matt said before hanging up with a huge smile. He did a fist-pump in the air. "Yes!" He dialed another number, knowing it was late but not really caring. She would probably be up waiting for Rory anyway.

"What?" An irritated Scottish voice snapped.

"Amy! Amy I did it! I found a way to start my novel. I'll be writing a story about a woman who suffers from a mental illness, a real woman! She's meeting with me tomorrow at a coffee shop. Amy it's really happening!" He laughed out loud.

"Good for you Matt, I'm happy for you, I am but have you seen the _time_?"

He blinked. "Ah, no, what time is it?"

"It's almost bloody midnight! Now, hang up the phone and go to bed. You can be excited tomorrow; you don't want to fall asleep on the poor girl do you?"

"Yes, quite right. Thanks Amy, goodnight."

"Night, Matt," Amy yawned and hung up.

Matt was barely able to fall asleep that night. He spent the whole time tossing and turning around in his bed, trying in vain to slow his thoughts down enough to allow him to sleep. Before he knew it the alarm was going off and he was jumping up to take a shower. Matt was showered, shaved, and ready to leave within fifteen minutes. He stepped out of his flat, locking the doors tightly before going out to his car and driving himself to the Timberyard.

He was only ten minutes early, and as Matt ordered his coffee and settled down in a private booth he had a brief moment where he doubted if Clara would actually show up. He was a stranger after all, what sane woman would meet with a stranger to be interviewed about their personal life? What insane person would meet with someone they'd never met in a setting like this to talk about such a sensitive subject?

Matt was eager to find out.

He heard her when she came in, but didn't look up from his book. He wasn't reading the pages, not really. He was watching the doors with his peripherals while trying to look as though he actually had a reason for being here.

He heard her asking a waiter where to find him, and then her footsteps coming closer to his table.

Finally, he allowed himself to look up.

He couldn't help but stare for a moment. Matt hadn't been sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn't the person who was standing in front of him. Clara Oswald was very short; if he had been standing he would say she barely reached his shoulders. She had a petite figure and a pixie like face with dark hair that was pulled up into a loose ponytail. Her dark eyes were gentle and warm as she smiled at him; her cheeks scrunching into adorable dimples that made him want to smile back.

"Hi," She said, "I'm Clara Oswald; we spoke on the phone earlier."

Matt smiled, and stood to take her hand. "Yes, hi, I'm Matt Smith, but you can just call me Matt. I believe we have a lot to talk about."

"Yes," She said as they both tucked themselves back into the booth, "I believe we do."


	4. Chapter 4: Impossible Girl

**Phew, after all of that I think it's time for a bit of humor. Lot's of fluffy teasing in this upcoming chapter for those of you who have stuck with me. As always, reviews and feedback are wonderful to see. Please enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Impossible Girl.**

Clara opened her mouth to speak, and smiled when Mr. Smith looked up from his book. "Hi," Her voice came out crackly, "I'm Clara Oswald; we spoke on the phone earlier."

Mr. Smith smiled, and stood to take her hand. "Yes, hi, I'm Matt Smith, but you can just call me Matt. I believe we have a lot to talk about."

"Yes," She said as they both tucked themselves back into the booth, "I believe we do."

He sat staring at her for a moment, drumming his fingers on his book.

"What?" She asked after a few moments of silence.

Matt blinked, "Sorry! 'S just… You weren't what I was expecting."

Clara raised her eyebrow, "How so?"

"You look… Well, you look rather normal. More than normal, actually you're—you're _beautiful_ I wasn't-" He cut off with a blush, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite mean to say it like that."

She shrugged. "It's alright, I don't mind being called beautiful," She gave him a reassuring smile. "But don't let that give you any ideas mister; my parents brought me up good and proper."

Matt raised a hand, "Scout's honor."

Clara grinned at him as they fell into a relaxed silence. "So," she prompted, "I hear you want to write a book about mental illness."

"Well," He twisted to reach into his bag, pulling out a small recorder along with a pen and paper. "Actually, it's a bit more specific than that. I want to write a story about _your_ personal experience with mental illness, what events in your life led up to it and how it's changed you and so forth."

"I see," She said, the nervous flutter back in her stomach. "And you think I'm a good candidate for that?"

"Well, yes I do. But of course I would respect your decision to say no if you have to. Despite the fact that _you_ will remain anonymous in the book you would still be telling me a deeply personal story. I can understand if you walk away."

"No," Clara answered too quickly, "I'm staying."

A slight smile tugged at Matt's lips. "Good, ah… Shall we begin?"

Clara glanced over her shoulder; whilst they were talking the shop had started to fill up considerably. She bit her lip, "Could we go somewhere more… Private?"

"Of course," Matt immediately stood and started shoving his belongings back into his bag. "I can drive us over to my place if you like; it's only me there so we won't be overheard."

Clara considered it for a moment, he seemed like a nice enough man but a person never could tell these days. He could be a serial killer for all she knew.

As if he could read her mind, Matt held up his hands. "No funny business, I promise."

"You better not. I can be dangerous," She warned in a tone that was more teasing than threatening.

She saw him suppress a smile as he let them out of the coffee shop. "I'm sure you can be." He pulled out an umbrella when the rain hit them, and Clara pulled her coat in tighter. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he took her hand. "Run!"

She laughed as he pulled them down the street to where his car was parked. He quickly unlocked her door, pulling it open and shielding her from the rain, "Your carriage, miss."

Clara only rolled her eyes and climbed into the car. She knew this was a crazy decision to make—she knew next to nothing about Matt Smith. But Dr. Jones had trusted him enough to give her his number, so couldn't Clara trust him?

She wasn't sure, but smiled anyway as he drove them through the busy streets of London. She had a can of pepper spray at the ready should the need arise, and it wasn't as though Clara was defenseless. She knew a thing or two about knocking someone out to make a quick getaway.

"So, how long have you been a journalist?" She asked timidly.

"Well I got this job just under a year ago now, but I wouldn't say that I'm a journalist." Clara detected a trace of bitterness in his tone, "My boss has me writing fluff pieces. Lost kittens, good deeds, stuff like that."

"Is that not journalism?"

Matt glanced over at her as they pulled onto a quieter street. "In a way I suppose it is, but it's… Well, it's boring, and hardly anyone ever reads that stuff anyway."

"I do," She pointed out.

He blinked, and pulled up to a curb. "We're here."

Clara followed him from the car to the small apartment complex across the street. He handed her the umbrella and unlocked the door with quick fingers. She shivered when the wind picked up again, trying to keep her teeth from chattering too loudly.

Finally, Matt got them inside.

Clara rubbed her arms in an attempt to get warm as she followed him up the stairs to his door. It was painted a deep blue, with a small silver handle and a yellow 11 tacked on the top.

"Welcome to my humble home," Matt gave her a grin as he waved her inside. "I admit it isn't much, but it's enough."

Clara stopped just inside to get a better look around. The front door led right into a large, well-furnished lounge. To the left she could see a door that led into a modest kitchen and to the right was another doorway that opened into a study. In front of her there was a small flight of stairs that led to what she assumed was Matt's bedroom.

"Wow," She said, "It's a bit bigger than I expected."

Matt grinned. "That's what I said. Anyways, let me take your coat." He pulled the coat from her shoulders and tossed it aside, heading quickly for the kitchen. "Do you want anything? Coffee, tea, biscuits?"

"No, I'm fine." Clara answered absently while walking over to a small bookshelf tucked in a corner of his lounge. These books all looked well read, some of the spines being held together with strips of duct-tape. She cocked her head to read the titles, there were books like Shakespeare's play _Hamlet _and Agatha Christie's _Death in the Clouds_ among novels like Amelia Williams' _Summer Falls_ and all seven of the _Harry Potter_ books.

"See anything you like?" She jumped when Matt appeared right behind her with a mug in hand. He smiled at her apologetically, "Sorry."

"It's quite an interesting collection." She commented, "I love Amelia Williams too."

He smiled. "She's a great person."

"You met her?" Clara's eyes were wide.

Matt winked and beckoned for her to follow him into the study. "Who do you think the afterword is for?"

She stood stunned for a moment before following him into the other room. He waved for her to take a seat in a snug armchair across from his desk. She sat and glanced around at the room. The walls were filled with books and files, the desk cluttered with note pages and recorders and an antique typewriter. Off to the side Clara saw a cassette player, and raised her eyebrows. Nobody she knew had such an outdated piece of technology these days.

Then again, no one she knew wore bowties and braces with tweed blazers.

"Do you mind if I record this? It's easier than scribbling notes, although I'll do that too." Matt reached for a blank tape to put in his recorder.

"No, go ahead." Clara said as she tossed her bag to the floor.

"Alright," He popped the tape into the recorder and pressed the right buttons to start the machine.

Clara shifted in her seat. "So… How does this work? You ask me questions and I… Elaborate?"

She watched him shift into a more business-like manner as he prepared his notes. "More like I start you off with a single question and you go off from it. Talk about whatever you want to, or don't. Whatever you don't want published will remain confidential; you just have to tell me. Or not share, it's up to you."

"How do you mean, 'tell you?' Like a safe word?"

Matt smiled. "Yeah, like… I dunno… Blue birds or something like that."

"Naw, Bluebirds are boring. How about…" She glanced around the room until her eyes came to rest on Matt again. She felt a wide grin spread across her face, "Bowties?"

He glanced down, and gave her an indignant look, "Oi! Bowties are cool."

"Whatever you say Chin boy," She chuckled.

Matt opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a moment, "I—that's—oh, shut up."

Clara laughed. "Okay, maybe you should start asking me questions now."

"Right," His tone shifted again. "Why don't we start with the basics."

She bit her lip nervously.

"What's your favorite color?" Matt asked seriously.

Clara's eyebrow rose. "What?"

"Your favorite color," He said again. "What is it?"

"Red," She answered slowly, sounding unsure. "Why?"

Matt gave her a kind smile. "Relax, Clara."

It was only then that Clara realized just how tense she was. She released a huge breath she hadn't known she was holding and sank back into her seat. "Oh."

Matt grinned, "Better?"

She smiled back at him. "Yeah, thanks."

They stared at each other quietly for a moment until Matt shook himself, "Alright then!" He smacked his hands, rubbing them together with sharp movements. "Let's begin. Would you please state to the recorder who you are and what you are… Diagnosed with?"

Clara swallowed. "My name is Clara Oswald, and I'm a schizophrenic."

She was rather proud of herself. Since her official diagnosis Clara had found it difficult to think of herself as schizophrenic. She hadn't even been able to say the word out loud because of how terrified it made her feel. What did it even _mean _really? Clara was normal; she was your average nineteen year old girl living in London with her aunt. There was nothing special, nothing _different_ about her.

She didn't miss it when surprise lit up his eyes. He must not have known beforehand what Clara had been diagnosed with. "Hello, Clara."

She gave him a little wave, "Hello Chin Boy."

He chuckled. "So, Clara, how long have you had this illness?"

"Well…" She trailed off, "Officially, I was diagnosed with it seven months ago. However, the doctors are fairly certain I've had it since I was sixteen."

"Why sixteen?" He asked innocently.

She gave him a small smile, "Bowties."

Her abrupt use of their safe word caused Matt to jerk up. He blinked, and searched her eyes for a moment. "Alright… How long were you in the asylum?"

"Three months," She answered quickly.

"Do you know why you were sent there?"

Clara couldn't help but smile at his almost direct quotation of Dr. Jones. "Are you trying to impersonate my doctor?"

He chuckled. "No, isn't that illegal?"

She grinned at him. "I wouldn't know. I do like the sound of that though, _the Doctor_, might even be better than Chin boy."

Matt's smile widened. "What's this; am I getting an upgrade?"

Clara bit her lip. "Maybe…"

He searched her face for a moment before slipping back into his business persona. "Back to my original question though, did you know why you were sent to the asylum?"

Her smile faded a little. "Yes."

"Why?"

Her smile faded and she looked down at her hands. "I did something… Or really, I _tried_ to do something bad."

Matt was quiet for a moment. "What did you almost do?"

She sucked in a deep breath and brought her eyes up to his. "That's a bit of a story."

He gestured to the recorder, "That's why we're here."

Clara swallowed. "Well… When I was sixteen I met a girl named Nina. She found me in the hospital after… After I was in an accident," She waved a hand to hold off his questions. "Anyway, we became friends. After I was allowed to go home she would come visit me. The two of us used to go a little wild when we were together," She smiled over some of the memories, but shook herself back into the present. Those memories weren't real. "Anyway, long story short Nina was a hallucination. She came to me one day claiming my… Accident wasn't so much an accident after all. She claimed she was an international spy trying to take down a terrorist group, and that this group had targeted me."

"What did she ask you to do?" Matt whispered.

Clara let her eyes slide away from him. Allowing her gaze to settle on the rotating spindles of the tape recorder, "She wanted me to burn down my house. Nina said that as long as the group thought I was alive they would be coming after me, so we had to make it look like I died. If I burnt the house down she would take care of making sure people thought I died inside."

The study was quiet for a long moment.

"But you didn't do it, obviously." Matt broke the silence with a whisper.

Clara let out a bitter smile. "No, but I tried. I'd just started the fire when my father showed up. He yanked me out of the house and called the fire department. They had it out fairly quickly, and I'm told the damages were easily repaired."

"You haven't seen for yourself?" He looked confused.

She sucked in another breath. "No… Once I'd been admitted into the asylum my father decided that he didn't want to have much to do with me. I can't blame him really. If my daughter had tried to burn the house down I would be a little frightened too."

Matt's expression was sympathetic, "I'm sorry." He looked like he wanted to reach across the desk to take her hand.

Clara shrugged. "It's fine. I live with my aunt Linda now; at least she doesn't get lonely anymore."

"But still, he's your dad Clara. You must miss him."

She snorted. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? I'm sure you grew up with two parents who were never afraid you would hurt them or yourself. Who loved and supported you no matter what you did. My mum was the only real parent I had, dad was always working. He never quite approved of me anyway, not like mum did. Not like I'm sure your parents did."

Matt leaned away from her, surprised by the hostility in her tone. His expression closed off. "You shouldn't assume things about strangers, Clara."

She jumped, his statement causing her to take a closer look. He continued to keep his expression carefully neutral to her, looking down to scribble a few notes. "Did you see Nina after you went to hospital?"

Clara was quiet until he looked up at her, "For a while. She used to walk around the building like she was looking for a way in, but I haven't seen her since I started taking my medication."

"Did you have any other… Symptoms?"

Clara shrugged. "I s'pose so, never paid attention though. You'd have to ask Dr. Jones about that."

Matt made a note and looked up at her. "So… If I were to ask you to summarize your life so far in one word, what would you say?"

The room was quiet for a while as she thought about it. She gnawed on her lip, eyes sliding over the desk to land on the carpet. How to sum up her life in one word?

Finally, she looked back up to Matt. "Ask me again… On Wednesday."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Why Wednesday?"

She shrugged. "Because it's my day off from the bookstore, because hopefully I'll see you again that day. Take your pick."

Now both of his eyebrows shot up. "What would we do, if I were to see you?"

Clara smiled. "Oh I dunno, if it just so _happens_ that you bump into me. We could… Go feed ducks or something."

"Go… Feed ducks?" He asked slowly.

She felt the blush crawling into her cheeks, how could she have said something so ridiculous? "You're right, sorry that's stupid-"

"No, no, I like it." Matt grinned at her, "So, _if _I see you at the Timberyard at… Say five-thirty? Yeah, at five-thirty, then we can go duck watching."

"_Feeding_," Clara corrected.

He held up his hands, "Right, sorry, feeding."

They smiled at each other for a moment until the sound of the tape inside of the recorder caught their attention. Matt quickly reached over and yanked it out, "Looks like this one's full."

"Sorry, I wasn't very helpful was I?"

"Oh no! I mean yes! All of this will make a great story, you were enormously helpful," He scribbled a letter on the tape and enclosed it in a plastic protector. "Are you hungry?"

Clara jumped when her stomach suddenly growled. She laughed. "Yeah, s'pose I am."

"Good." Matt reached into his pocket for his mobile. "How does takeout sound?"

They spent the rest of that night huddled in his lounge talking and laughing over everything and nothing while their meals got cold. As the evening wore on Clara started teasing Matt over his taste in music, doubling over laughing at some of the titles he read out to her.

"What!" He cried, "How could you _not _know _Merrilee Rush and the Turnabouts_? _Sunshine and Roses _was a classic song!"

"Because I wasn't born in the sixties!" Clara laughed as he carefully placed the CD back on his special shelf. He'd told her that shelf was reserved only for his select favorites, although Clara quickly pointed out that his favorites appeared to include over half of his collection.

"Oh, have some culture Clara!" He cried as he popped some artist named Ian Whitcomb into the stereo, handing her the CD case to read. "At _least_ tell me you've heard of this song." Matt started to sway as the first beats of _Ukulele Heroes _filtered through the speakers.

She laughed from her place on the couch when he started yelling along with the lyrics.

"C'mon Clara, join me!" He urged, offering her his hand.

She shook her head. "Oh no, I think you can be embarrassed enough for the both of us."

"But I'm not embarrassed," He countered. "Come on!"

She glanced at her watch, and jumped up. "Oh crap! Sorry, but I really have to go."

He turned to pause the song. "Is this just a clever plan to get out of dancing? Because if it is I'm ashamed—you could do much better."

"No, sorry, my Aunt Linda's probably starting to get furious with me. I told her I wouldn't be out too late," She hurriedly gathered her things and rushed for the door. "So… When would you like to do this again? Wednesday?"

Matt smiled. "Actually, I was rather looking forward to feeding ducks on Wednesday if it's all the same to you. Maybe Saturday?"

Clara smiled up at him. "Alright, sounds good, but I didn't peg you for a bloke who enjoys feeding ducks."

His smile softened. "I'm not. Actually, I've never gone duck watching in my life, but if that's what you want to do I think I can endure it."

Clara blinked, "Oh, no, I didn't want you to feel obligated. I was just teasing."

Matt huffed. "Clara, I don't just want to document you, I'd like to be your friend. If that's okay, of course," His eyes flashed with panic. "I don't want to come across as a stalker or something like that."

She laughed. "No worries, I'd like to be your friend too. I don't have many of those nowadays…" She trailed off when a heavy weight pressed down on her chest. Ever since her friends had heard about Clara being sent to an asylum they'd given her a wide berth. Nobody wanted her to have an "episode" while they were out having fun.

That had made Clara's blood boil, how could they claim to be her friends when they wouldn't stand by her? Sure it was all fine and good when they thought she was depressed, but delusional? That's when they went running for the hills.

Some friends.

Matt gave her a soft grin. "I find that rather hard to believe."

Clara blushed and pulled on her coat. "Oh! I almost forgot," She pulled out some money, "For the takeout," She explained.

He pushed it away. "No, it's fine."

"I insist-"

"Its fine Clara, friends buy each other meals sometimes. You can buy me dinner next time if it makes you feel any better." Matt chuckled

Clara blushed and shoved the money back into her pocket, "Sounds fair enough."

Matt grinned and turned to grab his coat. "Here, let me drive you home."

She shook her head when he pulled out his keys. "No, I couldn't. I'll just catch a taxi back."

Matt rolled his eyes and pulled her out by the elbow. "I'm not hearing that. I don't like the idea of you getting in a cab by yourself at this hour."

Clara hid her face to keep him from seeing her blush. He locked his door and pulled her back down the stairs to the street. The streetlights offered very little light under the moonless sky, a fine mist still coming down from the clouds. Clara shivered when the cold wind hit her again, and hurried after Matt as he unlocked his car.

"Brr!" He cried and turned up the heater as soon as the ignition was on. "Now I'm sure winter is coming."

Clara laughed. "I always liked the cold, actually."

"You are nuts aren't you?" Matt teased, glancing her way to make sure he hadn't offended her.

She let out a loud peal of laughter and smacked his arm. "That's mean!"

"Oi, don't send us off the road!" He shouted, swerving dramatically.

Clara rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you're a better driver than that Matt."

"Do you drive?" He asked.

She shrugged. "I was going to, but they won't let me anymore. It makes sense really; I don't wanna be crashing because of things that aren't really there."

The car was quiet for a moment.

Matt pulled them up to the stop sign at the end of his street. "I almost forgot, where to?"

"My aunt Linda lives on 46 Percival."

"Not too far then." He turned them in the right direction. "So… Why don't you get on with your dad? If you don't mind me asking."

Clara shrugged. "I scare him. I think after my mum died he just didn't know how to handle my… Situation. I think, in the way he sees it, he didn't just lose his wife in that crash."

Matt reached out to squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry."

She returned the gesture. "It's alright… So what about you; who's your family?"

He retracted his hand. "Well… I've lived with my adoptive family most of my life. Mum died when I was young, and dad was a deadbeat so I was shipped into foster care. My first foster home was where I met Amy and Jack, my best mates."

"I still don't quite believe you're friends with _Amelia Williams_." Clara muttered.

Matt rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't sound so reverent if you'd lived with her. _Anyway_, I met Dr. and Mrs. Tyler shortly after that, and here I am. I've got a sister named Jenny, she isn't by blood but she grew up as the Tylers' daughter and we view each other as siblings. Not a normal family, I guess, but calling her a sister made me feel like I was in one."

Clara looked over his face with new scrutiny. "What happened to your mum?"

Matt let out a tiny, bitter smile, "Bowties."

His use of the safe word made her snap back into the present. "Right, sorry. Inappropriate question, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine." Matt said before clearing his throat. "So, this whole obsession you have with ducks. How did that start?"

Clara smiled over his abrupt subject change. "I do not have an obsession with ducks."

"Yes you do," He countered.

"Do not!" She protested.

"Only someone with an obsession suggests feeding ducks as a fun thing to do."

"That is wildly untrue, children love feeding ducks."

He gave her a sideways glance. "Clara Oswald, are you implying that I'm a child?"

"I—no of course not!" Clara cried indignantly. "Although… Never mind."

He raised an eyebrow. "Although what?"

She shook her head. "No, nope, not telling."

"Oh c'mon don't do that to me! What?"

Clara giggled. "My lips are sealed!"

"Clara if you don't believe I won't pull over this car just to get a tickle confession out of you then you are sadly mistaken." He gave her an overconfident smirk, sensing he'd found her weakness.

She gasped. "You wouldn't."

Matt's hand hovered over his blinker. "Would I?"

Clara stared him down until they started nearing her address. "Oh look, it's my stop. Sorry but I guess you lose this time… Hey!" She shouted when they passed her aunt's flat. "Linda will kill me!"

Matt feigned an innocent expression. "Oh, was that your stop? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I'll just go around the block again."

She levelled a dark glare at him. "Matt Smith you take me to my aunt's right this second or so help me; I _will_ tell the police you kidnapped me."

He shot her a panicked look, his body tensing up until he saw the teasing light in her eyes. He grinned then, and gasped loudly. "You wouldn't."

Clara wiggled her mobile in the air. "Would I?"

Matt let out a defeated sigh and turned them back onto her street. "Fine, you're the boss."

She felt one of her eyebrows shoot up. "Did you just call me the boss?"

He blinked. "What? No! No, I'm the boss, you're just… Oh, whatever, you're impossible. An impossible girl, Clara Oswald, that's what you are."

Clara laughed as he pulled them up to the curb outside of her aunt's flat. "I'll see you one Wednesday Chin boy."

"Yeah, sure, don't forget to think up your word!"

She paused. "Right, one word to summarize my life, got it. Shouldn't be so hard."

Matt smiled and glanced over her shoulder. "I think your aunt's waiting."

Clara glanced back and saw her aunt glaring at her from her windows. When she looked down at her phone she saw twenty unanswered messages waiting for her, and it was well past midnight by now.

She groaned. "I gotta go."

He gave her a small salute. "Good luck with that one."

"Yeah," She huffed and slammed the car door.

Matt waited until she was safely inside to drive away, and Clara took a moment to lean up against the polished wood. Her mind was racing from today, her thoughts a jumbled mass inside her head that seemed to be on a repeated cycle.

"Clara Oswald do you know what time it is?" Linda shouted as she marched down the hallway.

Clara sighed heavily. "I know; I'm sorry, we just lost track of time. It was my fault really; I should've kept a closer eye on it."

Her aunt glared at her, pulling the drawstrings of her robe in tighter. "You said you were going to call me and you didn't. You can't just disappear like that, Clara, what if you'd gotten into trouble?"

Clara glared at her. "I am an adult Aunt Linda, I can fend for myself."

She snorted. "Yes you're an adult, I know that sweetheart, but you do need more supervision than most. That's why your pretty little doctor is making you live with me, isn't it?"

Clara shrank back, stung over her implications. "I'm going to bed."

"Don't you walk away from me!" Linda grabbed Clara's arm when she tried to snake past her. "This is my house missy, and you will follow my rules. That means you must be home no later than eleven-thirty at night, got it?"

"I wasn't aware I had a curfew." Clara yanked her arm away and shoved past her aunt. "I'll keep it in mind."

"You better, or I'll put in a call to that Dr. Jones to make sure you don't get to see that Mr. Smith again," Linda hissed.

Clara whirled. "You wouldn't!"

A slow, cruel smile spread across her aunt's face. "Go on and test me."

With tears in her eyes Clara spun around on her heel and ran for her room, slamming the door behind her. She threw her purse across the room, crying out with frustration as she flung herself onto her bed. Her aunt meant well, she knew that, but she could be _so _overbearing. Sometimes Clara wondered if Linda even saw her as a capable adult, able to make her own rational decisions. She knew she needed some supervision, but this was really pushing her on edge.

She angrily scrolled through her messages, deleting them one after another until a new one popped up on her screen.

* * *

**Received: 1:56 AM**

_**Sorry about bringing you home so late, hope your aunt wasn't too harsh. I'm looking forward to Wednesday; don't forget to think about your word.**_

_**Sleep well, Impossible Girl.**_

_**-MS **_


	5. Chapter 5: Family

**Thank you to my lovely reviewers, you guys are wonderful. :) Please enjoy this next chapter, and as always I love getting reviews from everyone if you have time. Thank you!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Family.**

Matt sucked in a deep breath, and took a small step into his study. He hadn't set foot in the room since the night he'd tried to listen to the first tape. He kept the door shut and locked it up tightly, wearing the key right next to her ring on a chain around his neck. Despite his promise to Clara that he would write the book Matt couldn't find it within himself to keep it. The room held too many memories that were only amplified by the sound of her voice over his crappy cassette-stereo speakers. Part of him—a rather large part if he admitted it to himself—felt guilty for not keeping up with his last promise to her.

Tonight he would change that.

Matt sat down in front of his typewriter, the right tape in his hands. With one more tremendous breath he slipped the cassette into the player and pressed play.

"_Whatever you say Chin boy."_

Her voice made his jaw tick; he could feel the tears stinging his eyelids but refused to allow them. He needed to focus; he had a promise to keep.

Matt forced himself to listen to the whole tape, occasionally smiling when he recalled a few of the more amusing facial expressions she'd sent his way. Listening to his own voice, Matt could see why Clara had found him fairly ridiculous. He _sounded_ like a little kid, not that she was much better.

He smiled to himself when the tape finally stopped. For a moment, the silence of their flat seemed to be pressing down one him. Matt fought for air, fingers shaking when he went to rewind the tape. He could feel his heart racing, and a couple of the tears he had been successfully holding back slipped out of his eyes.

He let out a breath of relief when the cassette was finished rewinding, and pressed play. Matt closed his eyes and let her voice calm him for a moment, slowly taking in air through his nose and letting it out of his mouth.

He opened his eyes, and set to work on the very first page.

_Oswin was your average teenage girl who…_

Matt paused, and crossed out the words he'd just typed. They were fine, but not quite what he wanted the opening to be. He bit his lip, and straightened up to start again.

_Jack Pond had never met someone who could light up his life like…_

He growled in frustration and yanked the paper out to throw it away. It still wasn't right. The story wasn't about _him_ it was about Clara—Oswin.

Matt sat staring into space for a moment. His eyes came to rest on her chair, and that's when the line came to him. He straightened back up, and poised his fingers over the keys once more.

_Hello. _He typed. _I'm the impossible girl._

He paused.

_Why might you ask? Well it's simple really. I guess you could say it all started one day when I met a boy. A boy named Jack Pond._

_Why is that important?_

Matt sat back and chewed his lip, searching for the next line. His eyes lit up when it came to him, and his fingers flashed across his keys.

_It's important because, by all rights, I should have scared him away. Jack Pond should have run for the hills the moment I opened my mouth, but he didn't. Instead, he stayed in the small café where I spilled tea all over him and we talked until the barista kicked us out._

_Now I know what you're thinking, why would that make him run?_

_Well, it wouldn't, but you're all missing one very important piece of information. Allow me to clarify by properly introducing myself._

_Hello. My name is Oswin, and I'm a schizophrenic._

_And this? _

_This is my story._

* * *

It was later—much later Matt concluded, when he called Amy. He'd always held a special connection with the fiery Scottish woman, even going so far as calling her his best friend, and if there was ever a time that Matt needed someone like her it was tonight.

His eyes drifted to the bottles he kept locked up in a small cabinet in his kitchen. He bit his lip, weighing the pros and cons of opening one. Just one bottle wouldn't hurt too much, would it?

Matt shook his head as the phone rang, that was his father's logic talking.

"Hello?" A gruff voice answered the phone.

"Amy?" Matt's voice barely came out in a whisper, and he clenched his fist to hold himself together.

"Matt?" He heard her tone become alarmed. "What is it, are you in trouble? Are you hurt?"

Matt pulled in a shaky breath and rubbed a hand across his face. "No I… No, I'm fine. Sorry to bother you this late, don't know why I even called."

"Matt where are you? I'm coming 'round."

"No, don't do that, just go back to sleep. I'll be fine; I just need to go to bed." He prayed she would believe his lie and hang up; he was starting to feel embarrassed for even calling. Amy didn't need him to be clingy at all hours of the night.

"Don't be an idiot, where are you?" Her tone left no room for argument.

Matt sighed heavily. "At home, but you should just go back to sleep Amelia, it's late."

She barked a laugh. "Do you really think I'll be able to sleep now? Stay put, I'll be there in a half hour."

"No, Amy-" Matt tried, but she had already hung up.

He let out a loud huff and hung his head back, what was he thinking? The _last_ thing he needed right now was someone's sympathy.

Matt had insisted over the months since Clara's—since her accident, that everyone treat him normally. He had refused any special treatment besides the respects of those who had attended her…

No, he couldn't even bring himself to think the word.

Matt didn't quite know how it happened, but somehow he'd managed to wind up back in his study with a bottle of scotch in his hands. He blinked, staring down at the bottle that had been a wedding present from Jack, and shoved it away.

He sat staring at her armchair until his doorbell rang. With a tremendous sigh Matt hauled himself to his feet and shuffled to let Amy in.

The second she had entered his apartment Amy pulled Matt in for a tight hug.

He hugged her back, burying his face in her hair to breath in her soothing scent.

She rubbed his back. "Oh my Raggedy man… How are you feeling? You were scaring me over the phone." She pulled away to search his eyes.

Matt shied away from her scrutiny. "I'm fine Amy; I told you that you didn't need to come all the way out here. You should be asleep."

"Well tough," She retorted. "I'm here now, so why don't you make me some tea?"

He rolled his eyes, "Typical Pond, peppermint or chamomile?"

She grinned, "Peppermint please."

Matt went back into the kitchen to prepare their tea, only coming out once he had two steaming mugs in his hands.

Amy smiled at him from her place on the couch. "Thanks Matt."

He gave her a small smile of his own and plopped down beside her. They both took a moment to sip on their tea, and the warm steam felt refreshing on Matt's sweaty face. The warm smell of the drink calmed him a little, and he closed his eyes.

He opened them again when he felt a hand on his arm. Amy's eyes were full of concern as she gave that arm a little squeeze. "You scared me tonight."

Matt swallowed, and reached for her hand. "I know."

They sat in silence, and by the look she was giving him Matt wondered if Amy expected him to apologize. He stared her down, squeezing her hand when the silence started to get uncomfortable.

As if she could read his mind, his best friend's eyes softened. "I don't expect you to apologize Matt."

That did it. Matt felt the tears well up and threaten to choke him. He squeezed her hand even tighter, shutting his eyes and bowing his head. Amy stayed very still when he pulled in a breath that hitched in his throat. He knew what was coming—he had been holding it back for a while now. It was a grief so great and powerful it threatened to press him down into the floor, crushing him into tiny pieces.

His shoulders shuddered, and Matt sobbed.

"Shh." Amy scooted over to wrap her arm around his shoulders, giving them a squeeze and kissing the top of his head. "Let it out Matt."

He felt her rub his arm and clung to her small waist, burying his face in her hair.

Matt's grief did not come out in loud wails that pierced his ears and shook the very frame of the house. Nor did it make him violently shake and flail around. His sobs got caught halfway up his throat, causing them to barely escape his mouth in a way that made him sound like he was being strangled. Gravity pushed against his whole body, making every one of his joints lock into place. He curled in on himself, nearly crushing Amy in his desperate attempt to hold himself in one piece.

Amy, his wonderful Amelia Pond, only kissed his cheek and let him crush her. "I'm here. I miss her too."

Matt heard the tears in her voice, and brought a hand up to the back of her head. They stayed like that for a long time, holding themselves together while the hushed room seemed to give up on its desire to choke them.

Matt gradually began to feel the restriction on his throat relax, and he began to pull in deeper breaths. Amy followed his example, finally pulling away with a small smile.

Matt wiped away a stray tear on her cheek, and she rewarded him by widening that smile. She took his face into her hands, using the pads of her thumbs to wipe at his tears.

"You are not alone." She told him with a forceful tone. "Not ever, do you understand?"

He swallowed, and gave her a small nod.

Amy leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently. "Do you want me to stay?"

Matt reached up to capture one of the hands she still held against his cheek, "If it's not too much to ask."

She only grinned and pulled out her mobile. "Just let me send off a text to Rory."

Matt nodded, picking up his now cold tea and taking another large sip on his way back into the study. He stopped in the doorway, and stared at her chair again. He could still see her sitting there—smiling at him with that special smirk only she seemed to be able to master.

"_I thought up my word." She whispered, and laughed without humor._

_Matt was furiously trying to hail a taxi while Amy called emergency services. "Well that's good; you can tell me when I get to you."_

"_No Mattie." Clara murmured. "I left something for you, in your desk drawer…"_

"What's that?" Amelia asked as she entered the study.

Matt nearly dropped the tape he was holding. He cleared his throat loudly, holding back fresh tears. "It's a—something Clara gave to me, before…"

Amy swallowed. "Are you gonna play it or just stare at it all night?"

He looked down at the cassette in his hands for another moment, before sucking in a sharp breath and shoving it back into his desk drawer. "Not tonight."

Matt kept his eyes firmly on his desk when Amy came up behind him to squeeze his shoulders. "Come on Raggedy Man, it's late."

He nodded, and let her lead him up to his bed. She laid out his pajamas for him, and left. He stared at the back of his door for a long moment, listening to the small clock tick beside his bed.

Matt sighed heavily, and closed his eyes.

* * *

He woke in a fog the next morning, groaning softly and reaching out with one arm to wrap it around his wife's waist, a smile on his lips.

Matt sat straight up when his arm found an empty space. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. Seven months had almost passed since her accident, and yet Matt would still find himself making these mistakes. He would turn to ask her what she wanted for breakfast and find an empty room, or reach to grab her hand only to be met with a gaping hole by his side.

He took in a deep breath through his nose, and shuffled downstairs to see if Amy had left yet. He felt a small smile curl around his lips when he caught sight of her vibrant hair peaking up from a mass of blankets on his sofa.

Amy mumbled in her sleep and rolled over, nearly falling off of the tiny piece of furniture. Matt chuckled under his breath and tip-toed into the kitchen, busying himself by attempting to wash a couple of the many dirty dishes stacked up by his sink.

He tested the water and added soap, staring into space as the sink filled up. He waited until the bubbles were at a reasonable level to turn the water off. Pulling out a brand new sponge, Matt began to furiously scrub at the dishes. The soap clung to his arms and sent stinging needles into a cut on his hand, but he ignored it. He picked up a knife and began to furiously attack the specks of food on its blade. He stopped, and turned it over in his hands, watching the light reflect off of its surface with a strange fascination.

He didn't hear it when Amy entered the kitchen. "Matt?"

Matt jumped, dropping the knife into the sink. He turned and gave her a smile that was only a bit too wide, "Morning Pond! Care to help?"

He could see the worry she was trying to conceal written all over her face as she all but shoved him out of the way. "You go sit down; I'll take care of this."

He didn't argue, only nodding as he turned to sit in one of the chairs around the small kitchen table.

"So what do you have planned for today?" Amy asked after a couple minutes of a silence broken only by the sounds of dishes clanking together.

Matt shrugged. "I dunno, write maybe. I was thinking about going back to work soon."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "There's no rush Matt, Jack told me your boss is fine with you taking your time."

He sighed heavily. "That's the thing Amy. If I don't go back now I won't go back at all."

She nodded. "Okay, but take it easy yeah?"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Yes mum." She stuck her tongue out at him and he let out a small chuckle. "What are your plans Amy?"

She shrugged. "I have to go to work soon. Are you gonna be okay?" She sent him a worried look as she unplugged the drain and dried her hands.

He gave her a soft smile. "I'm always okay."

Amy didn't look convinced. "I called your sister. I don't want you alone today."

Matt groaned. "Why did you do that? I told you I don't want Jenny involved."

Amy gave him a glare. "Matt, she may not be related to you but she's still _your sister_. You two used to be attached at the hip before—before…" She faltered.

"Exactly, _before_," Matt let his head fall in his hands. "It's not that I don't want to see Jenny, it's just… I have to protect her Amy. She can't see me fall apart like this."

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and glanced up. "I hate to burst your bubble there Raggedy Man, but she's already seen you fall apart like this. You need her—you need _them_. Spend a weekend with them. They're worried you know. Rory and I keep getting voicemails because _you _won't answer their calls."

Matt huffed. "I know; I know they're worried. It's just… Ever since the—the funeral, it's gotten harder and harder to face them."

Her eyes took on a light of understanding. "I know Matt, believe me, but you can't hide from them forever. You need them to help you; they're the only ones who can." He opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him with a finger. "I know what you're going to say, but no. Jack and I may be your closest friends, but we can never be family for you, not like they can."

He closed his mouth, and nodded. He worried that admitting that fact would hurt Amy, but she only gave him a soft smile of encouragement.

"You're lucky to have them Matt, don't push them away now." She murmured, and kissed the top of his head.

He blushed, a bit ashamed of himself. Amy had never had the opportunity of a real family. She had him, Jack and Rory, but she had never been adopted like Matt had and she'd never met her real parents.

"I've got to go." She said with a sigh and walked back into his lounge to gather her things. "At least call them, yeah? Promise?"

Matt nodded and held up his hand, "Scout's honor."

She gave him a smile and hurried out of the door. "Love you Matt, see you soon."

He smiled when she shut the door a little too hard in her hurry to get to work on time.

"Yeah, love you too."

Matt jumped when his mobile rang. He glanced at the caller ID and pulled in a deep breath, answering the call and pressing the phone to his ear, "Hi Jenny."

"John," Her voice sounded anxious. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home, but I'm actually thinking about heading over to mum and dad's, could you give them a ring for me?" He hurried up the stairs to pack an overnight bag, tossing items into it carelessly.

"Sure," Jenny sounded as though she'd let out a breath of relief. "I think dad's working today, but mum should be home. I'll meet you there."

"'Kay, thanks Jen." He said and hung up the phone.

Matt drove himself over to his parent's house. They lived just outside of the city now, only an hour or two away from his flat if he took the motorway. Their house was a modest cottage set up on a small piece of land with few neighbors in sight. Only a few yards away from the house a small beach could be reached by climbing down a flight of precarious rusting steps.

Jenny's car was already parked in front of the house when Matt pulled up, and he bit his lip. Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea after all. He glanced at the passenger's seat where a copy of the first draft of his first chapter lay in a protective cover. He'd promised his mum that he'd bring it for her, but now he wasn't so sure he wanted them to read it. It was personal after all.

_Sod it_. He thought, and stuffed the manuscript into his bag. If he was going to publish this story he would need someone to edit it for him, and besides Amy or Jack there wasn't anyone else he trusted to read it.

His mum had the door open before he could even knock. "You made it," She said, and reached forward to pull him into a tight hug.

Matt smiled and returned the hug. "Yeah, course I did."

She pulled away to smile at him, brushing a bit of his floppy hair out of his eyes. "You need a haircut."

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her comment. She was always teasing him about his hair, but Matt knew she never meant anything by it. He didn't believe his mum had a mean bone in her body.

"Is dad home?" His voice croaked, and he struggled to clear it.

Rose nodded, and moved to let him in. "He and Jenny are in the lounge, here let me take that." She pulled his bag out of his hands and plopped it down by the door. "Go on in."

Matt smiled to himself; the house looked exactly the same as when he'd last seen it. Everything was scattered about as if a tornado was constantly whirling around the house, and Matt had always liked it that way, it made him feel at home.

_Home._ That was a word hard to define these days.

David and Jenny both looked up from an earnest conversation when he entered. Matt smiled hesitantly and offered them a small wave. "Hello gang."

He was surprised when Jenny lurched to her feet and tackled him in a hug. He only hesitated for a moment before hugging her back, giving her a tight squeeze.

"I worried about you Johnny boy," She murmured.

Matt gave her a half smile. "I'm fine Jen, honest."

Jenny kissed his cheek and glanced over her shoulder at David. "I'll just… Go help mum with dinner."

David stood as she closed the door behind her. The two of them took a moment to stare at the other until David opened his arms wide. Immediately Matt ran into his embrace, allowing himself to be held like a child for a moment.

"How are you really?" His dad whispered.

Matt swallowed as they broke apart, "Depends on the day."

David gave him a knowing look, nodding. "Amy called us a few hours ago, she really sounded worried Matt. It scared your mum and sister half to death."

Matt lowered his eyes to the floor and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Well Amy may have stopped me from making a few bad decisions last night, but I would have survived."

His dad gave him a stern look. "You make sure to call one of us next time, yeah? Don't be alone."

Matt sighed heavily but made eye contact with David. "I promise dad."

David clapped him on the back. "Good man. Now c'mon, we should go help out the girls, allons-y." He gave Matt a grin as they followed the sounds and smells of cooking. Jenny and Rose were chattering away as they prepared what appeared to be some kind of soup.

As soon as he was in the kitchen Rose presented Matt with a bowl of yellow cream that had golden fish fingers sticking out of the sides. "Here you go, I made it special for yah." She gave him her hopeful tongue-in-cheek smile.

Matt took the bowl gratefully and kissed her cheek. "Thanks mum."

Her eyes flooded with warmth when he sat down to eat his favorite snack. David walked up behind Rose, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek. "I still don't know how you can manage to force that stuff down, Matt."

Matt frowned, "Oi! Says the man whose goal in life is to find a way to put Bananas in e_very single meal_," He took a large bite off of a fish finger and licked his lips, "Ah, delicious."

Jenny wrinkled her nose. "How did you even think to combine those anyway?"

Matt swallowed. "I already told you, there wasn't a lot to eat when I lived with Paul, sometimes my mother and I _survived_ off of this stuff."

The room was quiet for a moment. Matt knew they always felt a bit uncomfortable when he brought up his birthparents so blatantly, and he couldn't blame them, but there was something a bit off about the way they all looked away from him. It was almost as if they knew something he didn't.

David cleared his throat and released Rose. "So Matt, Amy told us you have the first chapter of your book done."

He nodded. "I have it actually, if any of you would like a first look."

Jenny bounced up and down on her heels. "Oh please? Please, please, please Johnny?"

He laughed and hauled himself to his feet. "Let me just go and get it." He snatched the bowl of custard, "And I'm taking this with me, so you don't get any ideas." He pointed a finger at all of them playfully as he backed out of the kitchen.

Matt spun on one heel and marched over to where his bag was still sitting by the front door. He reluctantly set his bowl of custard down and rummaged through the duffel until he found the manuscript. With a groan he pulled himself back up and started for the kitchen.

Matt heard whispering, and paused just outside of the door.

"Should we tell him?" Jenny muttered.

"I feel like we should, but…" Rose trailed off and sighed. "I don't know if he could handle it right now."

"Rose, Matt's an adult now. He has a right to know they released his father, even if he doesn't want to see him." David said rationally.

Matt's blood ran cold and both the bowl and his manuscript went tumbling to the floor in one loud clatter.

All noise in the other room ceased, and it was as if all three of them were holding their breath.

Slowly, he stepped into the kitchen with shock frozen on his face. "Paul is…"

Rose stepped forward, holding out a hand. "He contacted us a couple of days ago. They released him this morning on parole… He wants to see you Matt."

"We told him it was up to you." David said quickly when he saw the dark anger forming in Matt's eyes. "Like I said a moment ago, you're an adult now; you can make your own decisions."

Matt could feel his whole frame was shaking and he clenched his fists in an attempt to keep some kind of self-control, "Did you."

Jenny hesitantly handed him a small slip of paper. "That's the address, if you want to see him."

Without having to think about it Matt snatched the paper and marched right up to the sink. Everyone kept their eyes firmly off of him as he stuffed it down the drain and flipped on the garbage disposal.

He turned off the machine and gripped the edge of the counter with tight fists, taking in deep breaths to calm himself.

Matt flinched when he felt David's hand on his shoulder. "That's what we thought you would say, but if you ever change your mind..."

Matt shrugged his hand off and half ran out of the kitchen. He grabbed his bag and ran up the stairs for his room. He tossed it onto his bed and slammed the door, letting out a breath as soon as it was closed.

Matt sank down to the floor and let his head fall into his hands. It was too much; all of this was just too much for him right now. He was just so _tired_—the kind of exhausted that was rooted deep down in your bones.

Clara, he wanted Clara right now. She would know just what to say to him, just what to do. She would be up here sitting beside him, an arm around his shoulders.

The hole in his chest tore into him again and he allowed his tears to fall again.

"_I'm here; just tell me what you need."_

"You," He whimpered. "I need you."

* * *

Matt's family spent the rest of that weekend tip-toeing around him, trying to avoid conversations likely to set him off. It had been exactly what he was afraid of; he didn't want them to feel like they had to watch every little thing they said, that wasn't fair, and not just to them but him as well.

That's why he was so grateful for David. His adopted father knew exactly how Matt was feeling, or at least close to how he felt. He'd already gone through the same grieving process Matt was facing now, and for that Matt was relieved. It meant David knew just how to treat him—normally.

The drive back to Matt's flat was long and uneventful. He'd left his manuscript back with his family for review, and felt a nervous flutter when he thought of what they might say. Jenny had already begun to read it, and hadn't stopped praising Matt since then.

He smiled faintly, despite the endless amount of annoying energy Jenny possessed he had always loved her enthusiastic approach to life. He often found himself jealous of her, wishing he could view the world through such a positive scope.

"If only, if only," He muttered under his breath.

Matt swallowed when his thoughts shifted down a less pleasant path. His father, what was he going to do about him? No matter how much he would like to, Matt couldn't just ignore him forever. He had to see him once, if only to say goodbye.

There were many things he wanted to say to Paul, most of which ended in scenarios that landed Matt in jail for a long period of time.

Half way back to his apartment Matt stopped, pulling out his mobile and dialing David's number.

"Did you forget something?" David's answer was teasing.

"You could say that… Do you still have a copy of that address?" Matt's voice cracked, and he bit his lip.

David was quiet for a long moment. "Sure Matt, hold on."

Almost a half hour later Matt found himself sitting in his car outside of a small apartment complex not far from where he used to live, back when he was with Paul.

Matt's breath caught when his father stepped out of the building to dispose of his trash. Paul didn't look too different, maybe a bit healthier—his eyes less bloodshot and his skin not as grey as it used to be, but other than that the only difference Matt could see was age. His father looked far older than he should, with only a few grey hairs straggling out on his head and a scruffy, almost all white beard.

That face brought up far too many memories for Matt, and he hastily started his engine to drive away from the apartment, unnecessarily rolling up his windows as if he could block Paul's view somehow.

Fear clenched around his heart when his father caught sight of him. Paul blinked, his eyes taking on a sad look as Matt sped away from him.

Matt kept his foot on the gas all the way back to his flat. He couldn't do this, not now, maybe not ever.

He tossed his keys onto his desk carelessly as he stumbled into the study. He shuffled over to his landline, which was alerting him that he had two new voice messages, and pressed play.

"Um, hi Matt, it's Amy. Rory and I just heard about your father, and we want you to know we're here for you. Anytime you want to talk, just give us a ring, yeah? Okay, that's it, I'm getting off now." The message ended.

Matt sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

The machine beeped again. "Hey there Doc, it's Jack here. I'm just calling because I heard about your father man, and I want you to call me ASAP after you get this. We need to talk."

Matt huffed and deleted the messages. He loved his friends, he really did, but right now what he needed was space to breathe.

He opened his desk drawer, and slowly pulled out the tape from the previous night, her final tape. He'd never had the courage to listen because if he listened, if he finally discovered what her word was it would finally be the end. It would mean he accepted her death, and he would never do that. Not ever.

Matt sighed and carefully placed the tape back into its drawer. He stepped out of the study and shut it tightly, locking it and hanging the key around his neck. He shivered when his fingers brushed against the cool metal of her ring before hiding the chain back under his shirt.

Maybe he would find it within himself to forgive both Clara and Paul. One day Matt might be able to find it within himself to let go, allowing them both to drift away into his past. He would never forget, no, but maybe one day he could forgive.

But not tonight.


	6. Chapter 6: Panic

**So sorry for waiting so long to update this, but everything just kept getting in the way. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up much quicker than this one. As always, reviews are welcome if you can spare moment, and please enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Panic.**

Clara fidgeted with her skirt as her taxi driver lazily made his way through heavy Wednesday traffic. She didn't understand why she was so nervous; it wasn't as though she was on her way to a date or anything, this was Matt she was talking about.

They'd held this tradition for a couple of weeks by now. Every Saturday afternoon Clara would come over to his flat and he would interview her for his book, and then on Wednesday the two of them would head over to the park to feed the ducks. While Clara loved Saturdays, Wednesdays were her favorites. These were the days when he wasn't the journalist, and she wasn't the nutter. These were the days she got to learn who Matt Smith really was.

By now, she knew his favorite color was a deep blue. He'd tried to describe the exact shade to her on many of their Wednesdays together, but by the third detailed lecture on the "ultimate blue" Clara would divert the conversation away from colors.

She knew he had a sister named Jenny, and that his adoptive parents' names were David and Rose Tyler. She knew his real father's name was Paul Smith, and that his mother's name was May. He didn't like to talk about her very much, and Clara never pressed him for information. She could tell by the way his lips would tighten when he spoke about her that his mother was a sensitive subject.

Today would mark the anniversary of the first month of their friendship. Not that Clara was counting, but it had been the longest friendship she'd experienced since her accident.

She took in a deep breath when the cab stopped, paying the driver quickly and turning to face the café. The streetlamps were just barely starting to come on, and it was raining again. Clara bit her lip and, after gathering her courage, marched up to the front doors with determination. They were just friends; she told herself, doing this was fine even if her Aunt Linda didn't approve.

Her Aunt had put up an extra fight today when she found out Clara was going out to meet with Matt again. She didn't like him, and wasn't afraid of letting Clara know that fact.

"_He's just using you," She would say to Clara with arrogance in her voice. "Trying to put you in a more relaxed situation to loosen you up and get more information out of you. He doesn't want to be your friend; he just wants a good story. Or worse."_

_Clara would glare at her. "What do you know? Have you ever met him?"_

"_I don't have to meet him." Linda stated calmly. "It's rather obvious Clara, use your common sense. He's a journalist sweetheart, it's what they do."_

_She rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. "I'll be back soon, don't wait up."_

Clara couldn't help the wide grin that overtook her face when Matt first came into view. He was waiting on one of the barstools, a bag of what appeared to be old bread beside him and an untouched coffee mug. His leg was bouncing up and down with a nervous energy, which made Clara's smile widen even more.

As soon as he saw her he smiled. "Clara! What a coincidence seeing you here."

She rolled her eyes and played along. "Isn't it? Oh and look, you've brought bread and everything."

He smiled warmly and stood, "Ready to feed some ducks?"

Clara took his offered arm with a beaming grin. "Shall we?"

They walked out of the café to his car chattering and laughing about trivial things. Matt kept flapping his arms around to punctuate his sentences, and every time he clapped his hands together Clara couldn't help but let out a fresh peal of laughter.

She took his arm again when he helped her out of the car, and they started on the walk across the street to get to the park.

"So, Clara, tell me." He grinned at her.

She raised an eyebrow. "Tell you what?"

Matt blinked, as if he had forgotten he was supposed to follow up with a question. "Tell me, what are your ambitions? What do you want out of life?"

A slow smile spread across her face. "Well… This is going to sound silly, but when I was younger I always wanted to be an actress, I made my mum and dad sign me up for classes and everything."

Matt let out a wide grin, "Really? I had you pegged for something more like a nanny or a barmaid."

Clara gave him an incredulous look, "A barmaid?"

He shrugged. "What do you want to be now?"

She blushed. "Well… I was a nanny once, and I like working with children so now I want to be a-"

Clara's sentence was cut off by the loud squeal of tires on pavement. She stopped in her tracks, her heart jumping into her throat when she heard the unmistakable sound of two cars crashing into each other. Slowly, she turned and caught sight of a familiar car crunched into someone else's in the middle of an intersection.

Without thinking, she took off.

"Mum!" She screamed.

"Clara!" Matt cried as he tried to pull her back, "Clara where are you going?"

She heard sirens in the distance, could see the bright flash of the blue lights as the police arrived on the scene, but all she could focus on was getting to her mother's car. If Clara could just get to her she would be able to save her this time, she knew it.

Clara fought when she felt two strong hands grab onto her arm. "No, stop! I need to get to her, I need to save her!"

"Clara, Clara calm down, who do you need to save?" Matt had a tight hold on her wrists, forcing her to face him.

Tears were streaming down her face now, "My mum! She's in that car, I need to save her."

"Clara, your mum's dead, you told me that. Remember?" He gave her a concerned look.

She froze, "W-what?"

"You told me your mum died in a crash during our session on Saturday, do you remember that?" He loosened his hold on her wrists, rubbing the sore spots so she wouldn't bruise.

She turned back to face the crash with wide eyes, looking over it again just to be sure. Clara's breath stopped when two Paramedics lifted a man out of her mother's car onto a stretcher. But it wasn't her mother's car, and this wasn't that accident.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. She could feel a warm blush creep up her cheeks as she turned back to face Matt. He probably wouldn't want to talk to her again after this, she was sure. She'd probably scared him away, just like she did with everyone else.

"I'm sorry Matt," She whispered and hung her head so he couldn't meet her eyes.

One hand gently brought her chin up so she would face him. "Do you want to go back to my place? I could make us a warm cuppa, and we can talk. If you want to talk that is."

Clara swallowed, and nodded, "Sounds good."

Matt gave her a slight smile and offered her his arm again. "Shall we?"

She took his arm and allowed him to lead her back to the car. Matt made sure to help her back into her side before quickly jogging around to start the engine.

The ride over to his flat was a quiet one, but Clara was too lost in her own mind to care about that. She saw Matt glancing over her every now and then with a worried light in his eyes, but she didn't try to explain.

She jumped when he took her hand. "I'm here Clara."

Clara blinked, and nodded. "I know."

"You know nothing you say tonight will go on record. Today you and I are just two friends, not the journalist and the… The muse. You can tell me anything you want to." He parked the car and turned his upper body to fully face her.

"I don't want to frighten you." She whispered.

Matt gave her a sad smile. "Trust me when I say this Clara, there is absolutely nothing you could tell me that would scare me away. I'm not going anywhere."

Clara gave him a small smile as they both stepped out of the car. He placed a hand on her back as they both walked up to his flat in a much more comfortable silence than the one before. Matt unlocked the door and ushered them inside.

She rubbed her arms in an attempt to get rid of the Goosebumps that were crawling across her skin. He tossed his jacket onto a coat rack on his way to the kitchen. "Do you want the usual?"

"Sure!" She called back, and sat down on the couch after shedding off her jacket.

A few minutes later, Matt came out with two hot cups of peppermint tea. Clara smiled as she gratefully took the warm mug in between her hands. "Thank you."

He grinned. "No problem."

They sipped on their drinks for a moment.

"So… Do you want to tell me what happened back there?" Matt asked quietly.

Clara swallowed her tea and looked down at her hands wrapped around the warm mug. "I really am sorry about that."

He shook his head. "Clara, you don't need to apologize to me, I'd just like to know if this is something I should be on the lookout for. I want to know what you want me to do if it happens again."

"It's never happened before." She whispered.

Matt reached out and swiped a stray tear away from her cheek. "Hey, what is it?"

Clara met his eyes, biting her lip as she considered telling him the truth.

"Bowties."

He blinked, a little taken back by her sudden use of their safe word. Neither of them had ever used it on Wednesdays, it was almost an unspoken rule, but the word had slipped out of Clara's mouth before she had a chance to stop it.

"Okay," Matt said slowly.

"No, sorry I…" She trailed off, fighting the frustrated tears that were stinging the backs of her eyelids.

"No it's alright, really." Matt said, but she could see the frustration in the back of his eyes.

"I want to tell you." Clara murmured, and took in a deep breath. "I just don't know if I should."

She glanced up when one of his hands covered hers. "It's fine; I don't expect you to completely trust me right away. If you want to tell me you can, but you don't have to right now."

Clara searched his face for a moment, finding only an open understanding written in his features. Without thinking she reached out and brushed away a lock of his wild hair that was threatening to fall into his eye.

She gave him a soft smile. "Maybe not tonight/"

He nodded and glanced at his watch. "Well, what would you like to do? It's only just 7 now."

Clara glanced over at his stack of DVDs. "Do you mind if we have a quiet night in? You could show me one of those movies you've insisted I watch."

He grinned and jumped to his feet. When she had admitted to Matt that she didn't watch movies he had reacted by giving her a look of pure horror. Ever since then he'd been teasing Clara about her lack of culture.

"If you want to choose one I'll go make us some popcorn." Matt helped her to her feet and dashed away to his kitchen. Clara sent him a fond smile and slowly made her way over to do as he asked.

Clara was immediately overwhelmed with the amount of choices she was presented with. Matt owned everything from _Young Frankenstein_ to _The Hunger Games_.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her arm. Spinning around on her heel, Clara prepared herself to scold Matt for scaring her, but was met only with empty space. She blinked, confused, and went in search of him.

"Matt?" She called.

"Yes?" He poked his head out from the kitchen. "Did you pick one already?"

She cleared her throat. "No, ah… Were you out here just a second ago?"

His brow crinkled. "No… Why, did you hear something?"

A cold feeling settled in the pit of Clara's stomach and she quickly shook her head. "No, no, I must've been imagining things." She let out a nervous laugh and reached out to grab a random DVD. "This looks good."

Matt came closer and took the movie from her, raising an eyebrow when he read the title. "I didn't peg you for a _Jaws_ fan."

She shrugged. "Well, at least it's one I've heard of."

He let out a loud gust of breath. "Okay, well how about I set it up while you go fetch the popcorn ay?"

Clara nodded quickly and scurried into the kitchen. She could still feel her hands shaking after what happened in the lounge. She stopped, letting her hands fall on the sink as she thought back to make sure she'd taken her pills this morning.

She hadn't realized the room was spinning until her knees gave out from under her.

"Clara!" Matt came rushing in and caught her just before her head could crack against the corner of his table. "Clara what is it, can you hear me? What's wrong? Clara? Clara?"

She looked up at him through the haze of her vision, trying desperately to calm herself.

"Hey, hey, it's alright." He pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "You're safe Clara, just breathe. C'mon, breathe with me." He sucked in a large breath, making sure that Clara copied him.

They breathed out together, and Clara felt her heart starting to slow.

"That's it Clara, just breathe with me." Matt pulled in another large breath and gave her a warm smile. "Did I ever tell you about the time Jack killed Amy's goldfish?"

Clara gave him a confused look and shook her head.

He grinned. "Well, Amy was out with Rory and the two of us had the house all to ourselves. So, us being… Well, us, Jack thought it would be a great idea to play football. There was one problem with his plan, however, it was pouring rain outside and Carroll would be furious with both of us if we so much as got a scrap of mud on her carpet." He paused to take a breath. "So, Jack suggested we play inside. Well, one thing led to another and somehow the ball ended up flying through Amy's bedroom door straight into the goldfish bowl."

Clara felt a weak smile forming on her face. "What happened next?"

Matt grinned. "Well, we both knew that if Amy ever found out we killed Mr. Bubbles she'd skin us alive. You'd like Amy by the way; I should make sure you both meet someday… Anyway! Jack drove to the pet shop while I cleaned up the mess and disposed of the now very dead Mr. Bubbles. He got back with only minutes to spare, so we quickly filled the bowl with water tossed the gravel in and added the fish. Amy never suspected a thing."

They stared at each other for a moment until Clara felt the tremors in her hands starting to fade.

"Better?" Matt whispered.

She nodded, "Yeah."

"Want to sit up?"

"Yeah," Clara allowed him to help her into an upright position, blushing when she realized just how close they were. He stood to get her a glass of water before leaning next to her on the cabinets. Clara took the drink gratefully, gulping down the cold liquid in small mouthfuls.

She glanced over at him. "How did you know what to do?"

Matt blinked, looking like she had just pulled him out of some deep reverie. "Um… Mum used to have them sometimes and I would be the one who had to calm her down."

Clara searched the side of his face for a moment. Matt rarely spoke about his mum, and when he did he tried to brush the subject off as quickly as possible. It made Clara all the more curious to know what had happened to her.

She took Matt's hand. He jumped with surprise and glanced up at her again. She smiled softly. "Thank you, Matt."

He gave her his trademark grin and gripped her hand tightly. "Any time Clara Oswald."

They sat smiling at each other for a moment until Matt stood, hauling her up after him, "Right! Movie?"

Clara sighed. "I suppose so."

He laughed at her reaction, grabbing the bowl of popcorn on their way back out into the living room. "Oh come one Clara, have some culture."

She smiled at his joke and settled herself on his couch as he started up the film.

Clara really did try to watch the movie, she really did, but after ten minutes she started to feel her eyelids drooping. She felt Matt wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side when she started to sink deeper into the couch. She settled herself against his side, resting her head on his shoulder while she tried to make sense of the story that was playing out in front of her.

By the time the Great Shark had made its second appearance Clara was fast asleep.

* * *

Clara woke the next morning in an unfamiliar bed. The room looked sparse, with only the bare necessities crammed into the small space. The sheets smelled like no one had ever slept in this room and the clock on the nightstand read 7:30.

_Crap_.

She jumped straight out of the bed, a tad bit relieved when she found herself still in the same clothes she'd worn yesterday. Yanking on her shoes and grabbing her phone she saw she had ten unanswered messages from the night before.

"Shit," She muttered as she scrolled through the text messages from Linda that became increasingly ugly as they progressed.

Clara finally tossed her phone onto the bed and held her head in her hands.

She didn't look up when she heard a knock at the door.

"Clara it's me, can I come in?" Matt's voice sounded far too cheerful for Clara's liking.

She rubbed at her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. "Sure."

He hesitated on the other side of the door for a moment before cautiously opening it to poke his head into the room. "Good morning."

Clara didn't smile. "I stayed all night."

Matt gave her a sheepish look. "Yeah, you did."

"You didn't think to wake me?" Her voice was edging on angry at this point.

He blushed. "Well by the time I woke up it was three in the morning. In my defense, I did try to shake you awake but you're a hard sleeper."

Clara sighed, and felt all of her irritation flood out of her system. "My Aunt is going to kill me, and you."

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that, I sort of called her this morning to tell her where you were… She has a … Colorful vocabulary."

Clara couldn't help the amused smile that curled around her lips. "Sounds like Linda to me."

"I think at one point she was threatening to eviscerate me." Matt chuckled despite the look of true terror that was on his face.

At that Clara burst out laughing. "She must like you, most of the threats she makes towards people are much worse."

He gave her an alarmed look. "That was her expressing her _approval_ of me?"

She grinned. "Oh relax Mattie; she's all bark and no bite."

Matt stiffened, and gripped the door a little tighter, his expression turning cold within an instant.

Clara blinked. "Matt? Did I say something wrong?"

He swallowed and relaxed a little. "I would appreciate it if you didn't call me that."

"You mean Mattie? I'm sorry, it just popped out. I didn't even think about it really." She stood when he didn't respond and took a few daring steps closer to him. "I'm sorry, Matt; I won't call you that again. Besides, I think Chin Boy is much better, don't you?"

He smiled at her attempt to lighten the mood. "I do not have a big chin."

"Yes you do, look at it. It sticks out like a—like a big nose, but a chin." She rubbed her own chin and squinted at him.

Matt rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."

She smiled and winked. "'S why you like me."

He gave her a playful look and opened the door wider, "Breakfast?"

Clara grinned. "Please."

She let him lead the way back downstairs, smiling to herself when the smell of warm pastries and coffee drifted across her nose.

"Mm, marvelous," Clara sat down and opened up the takeaway bag, "Oh scones! My favorites too," She smiled up at him. "Thank you."

He nodded and sat across from her. "I hope you don't mind that I had to go out and buy everything, I'm a terrible cook."

Clara picked up a blueberry scone. "Well, if you pretend you made all of this yourself, then I'll pretend to believe you and we can call it even, deal?"

Matt grinned and took a sip of his coffee. "Deal."

"Oh, before I forget." Clara scurried out into the lounge in search of her purse. She pulled out the small extra bottle of pills she always kept with her and pulled out her dosage. Swallowing the medication quickly she scrunched her face up at the awful feeling of the round pills sliding down her throat and rejoined Matt in the kitchen.

He glanced up from a journal he was scribbling in. "All good?"

She nodded, "Yeah. What are you working on?"

Matt huffed. "Work, my boss has me writing a piece on a local animal charity." He slammed down his pen and glanced up at her. "Speaking of, I should probably head over there soon. What time are they expecting you at work?"

She glanced up at the clock, "In about ten minutes or so."

He stood abruptly. "Well then, we best be going yeah?"

She let him drive her to work that day, arriving only a few minutes late and earning a slight disapproving look from her boss.

Clara spent the rest of her day watching the clock with nervous anticipation. She knew her aunt was going to be beyond furious with her when she got home.

As soon as she was released from work she started the short walk back to Linda's house, dragging her feet to make it as slow as possible. She knew it was ridiculous to feel like a teenager caught where she shouldn't be by her parents. Despite her diagnosis Clara was an adult, and felt her aunt should treat her like one.

Of course, she knew that would never happen.

She could see Linda waiting in the window with a blank expression. Clara gnawed on her lip, causing it to bleed slightly as she shakily pulled out her keys and opened the door.

It shut with a loud bang that made Clara's heart stop for a moment. She didn't dare turn around when she heard footsteps pounding down the hallway.

"Clara Oswald what in the hell did you think you were doing last night?" Linda demanded.

Clara sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I missed your calls aunt Linda, I fell asleep at Matt's."

She turned to find Linda glaring with her hands on her hips. "Oh, I'm well aware of your little _sleepover_ missy. Do you not have any common sense at all? That boy is going to ruin you! You're lucky he didn't try anything funny." She gave Clara a second look. "Or did he?"

"No!" She shouted. "Matt would never do something like that. I just fell asleep while we were watching a movie, that's all that happened."

Linda gave her a disbelieving look. "Oh I'm sure. Or maybe, maybe he didn't initiate it, maybe it was _you_." She sneered at Clara.

Clara stared at her with shock. "Linda! I would never do something like that."

Her aunt snorted. "Well, either way this is your last warning. If you let something like this happen again I'm putting in a call with Dr. Jones."

Clara felt tears sting her eyes. "I'm not a child Linda, and you shouldn't treat me like one."

She rolled her eyes. "Just go to your room."

Clara stared her down for a moment, feeling it when the tension in the room started to peak until finally she broke away with a huff.

Linda glanced over her shoulder. "I only have your best interests in mind sweetheart, you know that."

Clara slammed her door shut and collapsed onto her bed.

She lay staring at her ceiling for a moment, listening to her heart and trying to put a clamp down on the anger that was still boiling inside of her. Because, despite her faults, she knew that her Aunt really did have her best interests at heart.

Clara huffed, that's what made this situation the most difficult.

She jumped when her mobile let out a loud ring. Without glancing at the caller ID Clara answered the call and placed the phone against her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello Patient," A voice purred.

Clara sat straight up. "Who is this?"

"Oh I'm hurt, you don't remember me?" She heard the caller laugh bitterly. "Not surprising really, they got to you. Allow me to refresh your memory, my name's Nina."

Clara's heart stopped.

"No," Her voice broke. "You're not real."

"Aw Patient, I'm so sorry I wasn't able to get to you before they did. I've been watching though, looks like you caught the eye of someone special." Her tone had a slight jealous tinge to it. "Sweet little Mattie Smith, I see why you like him."

Clara felt her hands starting to shake. "Leave me alone," She hissed and hung up the call. Seconds later, she had the phone pressed to her ear again.

"Hi Clara," Matt answered after the second ring. "How did it go with your Aunt?"

She felt the tears spill over, and placed a hand over her mouth.

"Clara?"

She heard the sob escape from her lips and bit down on her tongue as hard as she could.

"Clara what is it, what's wrong? Did Linda do something, what is it?" Matt's voice was panicked now. "I'm coming over there."

"No!" Clara surprised them both with her exclamation. "No, it's alright Matt, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" He asked quietly.

She bit her lip and wiped her eyes. "Yeah, I'll be fine, sorry to call you."

"Hey, no, it's alright Clara. I'm happy to be of service." She swore she heard him smiling through the phone. "She didn't hurt you did she?"

Clara pulled in a shaky breath. "Not physically no."

Matt growled. "What did she say to you?"

She sighed heavily and laid down across her bedspread, "Nothing. Its fine, don't worry about it."

"_Clara…_"

She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "She thought… Well, first she thought you tried to take advantage of me, but now… Now she thinks I may have been the instigator."

Matt was very quiet on the other end of the line.

"Matt?" Clara whispered.

"Clara let's get something straight, I would _never_—"

"No, no _I _know that, but this is my Aunt we're talking about here. She doesn't trust me to take care of myself at all, and she trusts you even less." Clara sighed heavily. "Sometimes I really wish my dad was still here. At least he was only scared of me; Linda doesn't respect me at all."

Matt sighed heavily. "Family sucks sometimes, that's all I can really say."

Clara laughed bitterly. "Tell me about it."

"You know if you ever need a place to stay my door is always open," He said quietly.

She chuckled. "Thanks Chin Boy."

"Clara I'm serious," His tone made her fall quiet. "Anything you need, all you have to do is ask."

She blinked, tears threatening to spill over again, "Thank you, Matt, really."

"You're very welcome," His voice was warm, and Clara wished he was there so she could see what he was thinking.

"Who are you talking to in there?" Linda's shrill voice cried.

"No one!" Clara called back. "Listen, I've got to go, but I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"

"You better," Matt teased. "See you Saturday?"

"Yeah," She promised, and quickly hung up the phone.

Linda burst into her room with her hands on her hips. "Who were you talking to?"

"No one Aunt Linda," Clara answered with her best innocent expression.

Her Aunt narrowed her eyes. "It better not have been that Smith boy."

Clara narrowed her eyes. "Get out."

Linda blinked. "Excuse me?"

She jumped to her feet. "I said, get. Out!" Clara slammed the door in Linda's face and locked the door tightly.

Linda immediately began pounding on her door angrily. "You open this door young lady! Open this door this second!"

Clara pulled out a pair of earplugs and picked up her phone to resume deleting messages. Outside of her door she could hear her Aunt Linda shouting curses at her, calling Clara every bad name she could think of.

Clara ignored her until the handle rattled and the door flew open.

She jumped and yanked the earplugs out of her ears when Aunt Linda stalked towards her, her face full of a dark anger that scared Clara.

"That's it! That's absolutely it! No more seeing this Smith man, I'm putting in a call to Dr. Jones now." She pulled out her mobile and started searching for the right number.

"No!" Clara shouted and lurched to her feet. "You can't do that!"

Linda narrowed her eyes. "Watch me."

"No Aunt Linda please, you can punish me any way you like but please don't do this." Clara begged, clinging to her aunt's arm.

She shook her off and stomped out of the room. "Hello, is this Dr. Jones? Dr. Jones hi, my name is Linda Oswald; I'm acting as Clara Oswald's legal guardian at the moment." She started walking down the hall. "Y-yes, well I think you and I have something we need to discuss."

Clara stared after her aunt with disbelief and shock written across her features. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she looked at the new message numbly.

* * *

**Received 5:00 PM**

_**I can't wait to get you back. It's going to be so much fun. **_

_**See you soon Patient. xx**_

_**-Nina**_


	7. Chapter 7: Hysteria

**Hey guys, guess who? Hello! I'm back and so is my writing mojo. Sorry it took so long, I had to work out a few things, but I think my little break has led to some of my best work. Thank you all so very much for being so understanding, and for sticking with me through all of this! **

**Just a bit of a note: I think I'm going to make Saturday my update day now. I've never had a specific update day before, so I don't know how well I'll be able to stick to it in the beginning. Hopefully it'll work out. :)**

**Also, I send many thanks to Sassywriterchick for helping me with my musical dilemma. I hope you enjoy how I used the song. ;)**

**Enjoy, and please, please review! **

* * *

**Chapter 6: Hysteria.**

Matt heard the soft click of the second tape ending, but he didn't slow his typing. He was already two chapters in to her story; he couldn't afford to stop now. Somewhere towards the front of the flat he heard the clock chime, telling him that the time was well past four in the morning, but he refused to slow his typing.

Matt rubbed at his face, his fingers catching on the sharp bristles under his chin. _Danm_, he'd forgotten to shave again. He sighed heavily and took another sip of his tea, his face scrunching up when the lukewarm drink left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"_Careful dear, you'll put someone's eye out."_

He smiled faintly, imagining her soft voice in his ear. He missed her. It had almost been four months since her passing, and with every passing day Matt could feel the gaping hole in his heart growing wider and wider. Sometimes he felt as though the hole was about to swallow him, leaving nothing of the man John Matthew Smith behind.

Matt let out a shaky sigh, and allowed his head to fall into his hands.

He missed her; it was as simple as that.

* * *

Matt's head jerked up when the loud banging coming from his front door yanked him out of a deep sleep. With his eyes half-open, he forced himself to his feet, grumbling under his breath as he shuffled towards the door.

He opened it and was met with the worried eyes of one Mrs. Amelia Pond.

"Why are you here?" Matt huffed, but let her brush past him.

"Jeez, thanks Matt, love you too." Amy bit back sarcastically, flopping herself down on his couch without an invitation. She didn't need one, really. "Can't I just pop by to say hello every now and then since you refuse to return my phone calls?" Her voice was a high sing-song, but he could still hear the hurt underneath her light tone.

He sighed heavily and let himself sink down next to her. "Sorry about that, been busy."

She snorted. "Yeah, right, okay. If busy is what you want to call it. When was the last time you showered or shaved? Or ate? Or slept in a bed?"

Matt waved her off and lay back so his head was in her lap and his feet dangled over the arm of the couch. "I'll get around to it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Get around to it? Matt, you're going to kill yourself if you keep going on like this. I know you want to finish that book, but what would Clara say if she saw you this way?"

He flinched, staring up into her concerned green eyes. "I don't know."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Yes you do, you just don't want to say it."

Matt huffed and pushed himself away from her. "What do you want me to say Amy? I've done everything everyone's asked of me: I'm returning to work, I've paid my bills, shopped for groceries, spent time with my family, I've even gone out with you and Jack! I've kept up with everything that's been asked of me even when all I want to do is be left alone and it's _exhausting_." He sighed, and rubbed his face roughly with his hands. "I'm tired Amy, I'm tired and I'm lost and this? This is the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose anymore. When I'm writing… It's almost like she's with me again."

His rant was interrupted by a loud knock at his door.

They both froze for a moment, and Matt's expression slowly morphed into a dark glare. "You didn't."

Amy gulped, but stared him down. "I might've."

Matt growled loudly and went to open his door. "What are you doing here Jack?"

Jack didn't look surprised at the hostility in his friend's tone. "Amy called." He held up a bottle of sparkling cider. "I knew you wouldn't approve if I brought champagne."

Matt sighed heavily, and let his friend inside. Jack gave him his flirtiest smile and proudly thrust the bottle in his hands, patting his cheek affectionately.

"Oh Amelia!" He cried out as soon as he was in the door, opening his arms wide as Amy stood to receive his hug. "It's been too long sweetheart."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, that's enough. Get off me you perv," she grinned and kissed Jack's cheek. "It's nice to see you too."

Jack glanced over at Matt. "Well come on and join us roomie. Break open that lovely cider."

Matt rolled his eyes and left to get them glasses from the kitchen, all the while grumbling to himself about pushy Americans.

"What was that Smithy?" Jack called.

"Shut up!" Matt snapped.

He heard both of them laughing as he poured the cider, and stopped at the door of his kitchen when their voices lowered to whispers.

"Have you told him yet?" Jack murmured.

"No, you should've seen him when I got here." He heard Amy let out a shaky breath. "I've been trying to think up a way to soften the blow, but I just don't know how Jack. Maybe Rory should be here with me…"

Matt's eyes widened and he peeked out from his kitchen. Jack had one hand rubbing Amy's arm soothingly. "Just give it to him straight Pond, treat it like a band-aide."

She nodded, "Yeah, I s'pose your right."

"Just give what to me straight?" Matt asked as he fully entered his living room. "What is it you're not telling me?"

Both of his friends looked up at him with guilty expressions. Amy stood and took two of the glasses from him, handing Jack his cider.

"Amy…" Matt pleaded. "Amelia please, just tell me."

Amy bit her lip. Matt never called her Amelia unless he was at his most serious. "Matt I… I'm…" She trailed off, her eyes searching his face for something.

"Hey." Matt's tone softened, and he gave her cheek an affectionate swipe of his thumb. "It's me Pond, you can tell me anything."

She leaned into his hand and took in a deep breath. "Matt, I'm pregnant."

He stared at her for a few tense seconds before a wide smile lit up his face.

"Really?" Matt's eyes flickered to her stomach and then back up at his cider. "Jack! You didn't tell me?"

Jack gave him a watery smile. "Not my story to tell."

Matt set down his drink and practically lurched forward to give Amy a tight hug. "This is wonderful!" He laughed. "Does Rory know?"

She sniffed. "Yeah, he does."

He let out another laugh before frowning and pulling away. "Why were you so afraid to tell me? It's wonderful news Amy, why try to hide it? You know I would've only found out on my own anyway." He attempted to grin at her but she looked away. "Amy?"

"Matt, you should sit down." She took his hand and guided him back down to the couch. "That's not the news I was trying to hide…"

Matt cocked his head. He felt his heart squeeze with nervousness when Amy kept her eyes firmly focused on their joined hands. He looked over at Jack, but his friend's expression told him nothing. He was keeping his face carefully guarded.

"Amy just tell me." Matt whispered, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Whatever it is we can get through it. All of us, together."

Amy pulled in a shaky breath. "That's just it Matt, we can't. Not together anyway…" She finally looked up at him, her green eyes full of sorrow. "I was offered a job—"

"Isn't that good?"

"In New York," she finished.

Matt froze, his hand automatically releasing hers as his eyes widened with realization.

"It's with a prominent publishing house that's based there. I tried to convince them to let me stay here, but their insistent that I move. Rory's already gotten a job offer there and we've already put our house up on the market. We're officially leaving in a few months and…" She blinked furiously and gnawed on her bottom lip. "Matt please say something."

Matt stared at her for a moment before taking her hand and forcing his best smile. "That's wonderful." He said and leaned in to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear. "Congratulations, Amelia Williams."

Amy flinched a little but met his eyes with a forced smile of her own. She knew, he could tell. She knew he was angry, but he was happy for her. Or really, he should be happy for her. A part of him, a small part admittedly, screamed at the rest of him to see sense, to wake up and stop acting like a spoiled child. Amy had a life, and he was keeping her from it. He'd known that for a while now, but being directly faced with that fact was more than a little unsettling.

He was not angry with her; he was angry with himself.

_You selfish coward_, his inner voice hissed, _are you really that terrified of losing her? She has a husband and a baby to think of now, she's not yours to control. Let her go, let her be happy._

_She is not yours._

Matt swallowed when he felt Jack clap a hand on his shoulder. Amy was in the kitchen washing out their emptied glasses; laughing at something she'd found in one of Matt's cabinets.

He turned and gave Jack a weak smile.

Jack gave him a scrutinizing look. "You okay?"

Matt felt his grin become even more forced. "I'm always okay."

His friend gave him a reproachful look, but only patted his shoulder a few extra times, "Alright then."

Amy walked back in with her hands on her hips. "Now, you have some explaining to do John Matthew Smith."

Matt gulped and shrank away from her harsh disapproving look. "What did I do?"

"_Why_ do you have no food in your house besides this?" She pulled out a box of fish fingers and several packages of custard.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and held up a hand. "Because…"

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't continue. "Yes?"

"Well, you see, there is a perfectly logical explanation… Jack?" He glanced at his other best friend for help.

Jack only snorted and crossed his arms. "Save yourself mate, I'm waiting for an answer too."

Matt gulped again before turning his attention back to Amy. "I'm… Dieting?"

Amy raised both of her eyebrows. "What kind of diet would make you eat nothing but fish fingers and custard?"

He shrugged, "A good one?"

She rolled her eyes and stuffed the food back into his poorly stocked fridge. "Okay, well that's just not going to cut it anymore. We need to get some real food into you." She snatched a piece of paper and a pen, furiously scribbling out a list of food items. "Jack you run to the store, don't come back until you have everything."

Jack leapt off of the couch to give her a salute. "Yes ma'am."

Amy handed him the paper and waited until he was gone to cross the room over to Matt. "As for you, it's shower time."

He groaned and let his head flop over the back of the couch. "Do I have to?"

She snorted and attempted to haul him up by the wrist. "I swear Matt you're worse than a four year old. Get up, or I'll drag you all the way up the stairs."

Matt opened his eyes to squint at her. "You wouldn't."

Amy put her hands on her hips and met his challenge with her eyes. "Try me."

They stood still for a long moment; each sizing the other one up until Matt gave up with a huff and hauled himself to his feet.

Amy grinned. "Now there's a good boy."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Oh shut up Pond."

She only giggled and went upstairs ahead of him, entering his room in search of clean clothes. She stopped just inside of his door, staring around the room with wide eyes.

"What?" He asked, peeking over her shoulder into the neat bedroom.

"It's… _Clean_." She whispered.

Matt gave her an incredulous look. "Are you feeling alright there Pond? Got a fever?" He felt her forehead.

She turned to him with wide eyes. "Matt your room is _clean_."

His eyebrows pulled down into a worried line. "Yes, I clean sometimes. Shocking I know, but it is possible for a man to do such an act now and then."

She shook her head. "Not you. Matt, it's physically impossible for you to keep your room this organized. The whole time I've known you it's always been that way."

Matt lowered his eyes. "Yeah well… Things change."

Amy searched his face for a moment, and then reached up to tuck away a few errant strands of his hair. "My poor Raggedy Man… You never let on how bad you really are, do you? Always putting on a brave smile so the rest of us can't see the vulnerable man lying just below the surface."

"What's your point?" He snapped; his tone a bit harsher than he meant it to be.

She forced him to make eye contact with her.

"You're lonely." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Matt backed away from Amy, turning around swiftly and half running for the bathroom. "I'll find clean clothes myself after I shower. You just… Make yourself at home, not that you have a problem with that."

The last thing he saw before slamming the bathroom door was Amy's heartbroken expression.

Matt let his forehead rest against the cool wood of the bathroom door for a moment before turning around and leaning over to turn on the shower.

He listened to the water run and stared at himself in the mirror while he waited for it to heat up. What he saw there made him recoil in shock; he barely recognized the face staring back at him. The eyes were sunken in, the bones protruding out from the face in a way that was twisted and unnatural. His skin was so pale it looked grey under the fluorescent light, and the scraggy beginnings of a beard made him feel self-conscious about the hollows of his cheeks.

Matt knew he wasn't healthy. He knew by the ribs that poked against the skin of his chest, he knew by how that skin tightly wrapped around his thin torso and was just starting to show off his bony hips. He knew because he couldn't remember the last time he ate a real meal, he knew because he could see the deadness in his eyes. There was no light in him anymore; that required an energy he just didn't have.

Matt sighed heavily and stepped into the scorching hot shower. He knew he was burning skin, and he watched as his color quickly turned from grey to bright red, but he didn't bother turning the water back to a reasonable temperature. He was going to stand there until it was cold anyway, so what was the point?

He swallowed, and sluggishly reached for the first soap bottle he would need.

When Matt deemed himself clean he reached for the faucet, only to be stopped by the sight of a familiar shampoo bottle. More specifically, it was _her_ shampoo bottle.

He clenched his fist and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep himself from reaching for it. He couldn't reach for it, because if he did what little stability he had right now would tip and the world would start spinning all over again.

And yet, he was still unable to stop himself from wrapping his fingers around the bottle. He couldn't control himself from opening up the lid and bringing the top up to his nose.

He squeezed the bottle gently.

The fresh smell of watermelons tickled Matt's nose and brought tears to his eyes. He blinked, and snapped the lid back down, nearly throwing the bottle against the shower wall in his haste to escape.

Matt shut off the water quickly and wrapped himself in a towel, forcing himself to sit down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor when his shallow breathing caused the room to spin wildly. He cupped the back of his neck with his hands and forced his head down to his knees, trying to calm himself.

"_That's it; in… And out…" _She whispered.

Matt pulled in a slow breath of air through his nose, and let it puff out of his mouth in time with her counts. He felt his heart rate begin to slow, concentrating on the feeling of his pulse fading from his fingertips.

"_Relax."_ She murmured. _"It's all going to be okay now."_

Matt nodded, and leaned his head back against the bathroom wall. He felt his lips tug into a manic smile and heard a hysterical laugh echo around the bathroom. Was that him? He wasn't sure, all he could feel was the coldness of the tile seeping through his wet towel and the air rushing in and out of his lungs.

He heard Amy knock on the door. "Matt? Are you alright in there?"

He giggled, and tried to control himself. "Yeah, fine, be right down."

She seemed to hesitate before heading back downstairs.

Matt sighed heavily and hauled himself into an upright position. He knew Amy was going to scold him if he came out without shaving. He ran his hand along the sharp bristles that covered his chin and neck, reluctantly pulling out his razor and getting to work.

Once he felt that his skin was smooth enough, Matt yanked on the fresh clothes he found on the counter and trotted downstairs to rejoin Amy. He could hear her and Jack banging around in his kitchen, laughing while they stowed away all the items Jack had bought.

He hesitated, before finally crossing over the kitchen threshold.

Jack grinned up at him from his table, a plate of food in hand. "You've got to try this Johnny boy; Amelia actually cooked something that doesn't taste like lighter fluid!"

Amy wacked the back of his head with a thick cookbook, "Oi! Maybe next time I won't save you a plate! And don't call me Amelia!"

Jack only winked at her, and resumed eating.

Amy handed Matt a steaming plate of what appeared to be some kind of pasta covered in a green sauce. "Eat." Her tone left no room for argument.

He saluted her. "Yes ma'am."

Taking the plate of food, Matt sat down across from Jack and gingerly picked up his fork. He really didn't want to eat, the smell of the pasta was starting to make him nauseous, but Amy's dark glare prompted him to dutifully pop a piece into his mouth and chew.

He nodded, forcing a smile on his face. "It's good."

She smiled with approval, and while her back was turned Matt let out a small shudder. The food made him want to gag, not because of the taste, but simply due to his lack of desire for it.

Jack shot him a worried glance, and he popped another piece into his mouth with a manic smile.

He huffed internally; soothing the worries of his friends was going to be exhausting.

Amy joined the boys with a satisfied smirk, plopping herself down in between them and stuffing her face with pasta. She closed her eyes and moaned.

"I swear I could live off of this stuff if I had to." She said, and eagerly went for another bite.

Jack grinned. "You'd starve if you had to live off of your own cooking all the time."

Amy smacked his arm. "Shut up, I'm eating."

He rolled his eyes and shot Matt a conspiratorial look, "Right."

Matt snorted, but didn't comment.

Amy looked over at him thoughtfully while she chewed. "Let's see… Showered, shaved, eating, food shopping done and I've got your laundry going… What else?"

He gulped down another bite of pasta. "I think that's all, really."

Amy thought for a moment, and then clapped her hands loudly, "Cleaning! That's it!"

Matt and Jack both groaned in unison. "I already cleaned the house, Amy." Matt complained, knowing it was of no use.

She rolled her eyes. "Wiping off your desk with a cloth does not count as cleaning, Matt."

He sighed heavily, and got up to scrape the remaining pasta off of his plate. "What do you want us to do?"

She worried her lips and glanced around. "Let's see… Jack! You're on vacuum duty for now."

Jack stood ramrod straight. "Yes ma'am!" He shouted, and marched out of the kitchen.

Matt and Amy glanced at each other. "Wait for it…"

"Say Matt—"

"Closet under the stairs," Matt pointed.

Jack grinned. "Thanks Doc."

"Don't call me that." He snapped back.

To his credit, Jack actually looked remorseful over his mistake before resuming his hunt for the cleaning utility. Matt snorted, and turned back to Amy. "What about me Sarge?"

His friend stood and moved in to fix his bowtie. "You put it on," She whispered.

Matt blinked, confused, and glanced down. "Huh," He muttered. "Guess I did…"

Amy smiled at him, her green eyes lighting up softly. "It looks good."

He gave her a slight smile. "It does doesn't it? It's cool, bowties a_re_ cool."

She laughed and patted his chest. "I don't know if I would go that far Raggedy Man, but it does suit you…" She reached up to kiss his cheek. "Now, I want you on dusting. Think you can handle that?"

Matt knew by the look on her face that when she said dusting, she meant his study. He'd neglected making any changes to the room, even just by cleaning it. Doing so felt like a crime to Matt, leaving a heavy weight in his chest and a sour taste in his mouth.

He gulped, "As you wish."

Amy handed him a bottle of cleaning fluid and an old towel before shoving him out of the safety of the kitchen. He clutched the supplies tightly in his hands, standing just outside of the open door. He could hear Jack cursing loudly from the top of the stairs, and smiled a bit when Amy started scolding him for language.

With one large breath in for courage, Matt gingerly stepped into the study. He knew it was ridiculous to feel the way he did. It was just a room. A room he'd been in a thousand times before Clara entered his life, and hundreds of times after her… Her death.

He was still having difficulty saying the word in his head, and it was impossible for him to utter it out loud. He still hadn't entirely accepted the fact that it was true. Most days Matt still expected to look up and find her there, but Clara was dead, and there was no changing that.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, and started on his task.

Matt focused in on the bookshelves first. He carefully worked some of the cleaning oil into the cloth he was holding, and delicately allowed it to run over the wood of the shelves. He put the bottle down on his desk, and began to allow the towel to work its way in between the weathered spines of his books. These shelves did not hold his favorites, but they were books nonetheless.

Matt had always held a passion for books. He had never been allowed to own many as a child, and he believed that was why his fascination had first started. He remembered begging his mother to allow him to buy the books out of the tiny shop on their street. The library was too far away for them to visit, but when he got older Matt would often sneak out to spend hours lost among the shelves. It was here that he felt most alive, his head bowed, his mind far away.

He read everything—fiction, poetry, anything he could get his hands on. Modern or classic, well written or rubbish, it didn't matter. As long as the book had words printed on the pages he would be compelled to read it.

Matt smiled slightly to himself; it was in that same library that he had experienced his first kiss.

He remembered the girl clearly. He was thirteen and she was fourteen. Matt recalled how awkward he felt, especially because she was older than him. Despite her age she had already held a maturity Matt still wasn't completely convinced he'd ever mastered. He remembered being jealous of how confident she had seemed throughout their whole relationship, if you could call it that. Her name was…

Matt paused what he was doing to concentrate.

Her name was River, River Song.

He wondered where she was now.

She had been a strange one, his River, always rushing off somewhere and keeping secrets from him. They'd had, what you could call, a toxic relationship. She kept her secrets, and he kept his, and all it ever led to were shouting matches.

Matt closed his eyes as he poured fresh oil over his towel, thinking back on the last time he'd seen her. It hadn't been in that library, nor were they teenagers anymore. It had been his second year at university; he was visiting the Library of Congress in Washington DC, one of the largest libraries in the world. It was spring break and Matt would be returning home soon. He'd spent most of his time running around New York, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave without visiting the library. He wanted to be a writer, after all. One who was great enough to have his books stocked in such a beautiful place.

He had stared around himself in awe. As far as literature went, this place was what Matt considered to be a temple. Rows upon rows upon rows of books were stacked up all along the walls. Mobile ladders and pristine mahogany desks with old-styled lamps covered every available floor space, and though he wasn't supposed to, Matt couldn't help but brush his fingers along the smooth wood and sparkling glass.

The beauty of it all took his breath away.

It wasn't until the end of the tour that he saw her. She was in a group across the room, her eyes wide with awe as she took in the enormous palace before her. That was what Matt had always loved most about River—her ability to become lost in her own wonder.

She looked much the same, her wild blond hair a fuzzy mess around her head and her blue-green eyes with that same pierce to them. As if she could see right through everything to the heart of the truth.

In other words, she hadn't changed at all.

He waited at the entrance once his tour was over, desperately trying to work up the courage to talk to her.

"Hi River, I don't know if you remember me, but you were my first kiss back in…" He waved a hand aggressively. "No, rubbish…"

He thought for another moment.

He plastered on a cheesy smile, "Hey River! Remember that boy from the library? Well, guess who? No!" He slapped his forehead. "Stupid, silly old…."

He took in a deep breath to start again.

"John?"

Matt spun around on his heel, coming face-to-face with wild hair and green eyes.

He gulped, "Miss Song?"

River smirked. "It's _Professor_ Song to you."

He blushed. "Yes, well, ah… I was wondering… If you would—"

She smiled widely over his stuttering, and ran forward the two steps between them to throw her arms around his neck and give him an enthusiastic kiss.

"Mm, ah," Matt flailed his arms around until she pulled away. "What was _that_ for?"

River smirked. "_That_ was hello, now, coffee?"

She sauntered past him, and Matt could only stare at her with his mouth slightly open. What had just happened? His brain took a moment to play catch up before he jumped back into the present.

"Yes! Coffee, good!" He ran after her.

Matt was snapped out of his reverie with the sound of a tremendous crash coming from the room above him.

"Jack!" Amy thundered.

He smiled to himself when he heard Jack shouting a whole host of creative and violent insults at the object he had broken. Part of him wanted to go see what _exactly_ his friend had destroyed; the other half of him really just didn't want to know. Ignorance was bliss.

Matt looked up when he heard footsteps pounding down the stairs. A wild mess of ginger hair and rumpled clothing burst into his study, skidding to a stop before she could run into his desk.

"Matt, we're really sorry." She panted, gripping the edges of the desk so tightly her knuckles turned white, "Really, truly, very sorry. I tried to warn Jack, I tried to catch it but…"

He felt his brow furrow. "Amy, whatever it is, I'm sure it's no big deal."

She gulped; her eyes full of fear—for him? Or because of him?—as she gnawed her lips. "Matt, maybe you better come look."

He dropped his cleaning supplies and ran past her to the stairs. Jack was standing at his bedroom door with an expression full of a deep remorse.

He put his hands up as Matt approached. "Look, Matt, I'm really sorry. I mean that; really, _really_ sorry."

Matt shoved past him, and froze in the doorway of his bedroom.

There, on the floor, in pieces, was her music box.

"No." He whispered, tentatively walking—almost crawling—towards the broken object. He cupped the broken birds in his hands, one was a shattered mess of rosy colored glass, and the other had lost a wing.

His heart wrenched at the sight, the music box had been a gift from him to Clara. He'd given it to her the night before their wedding.

He remembered her warm smile when she had unwrapped the delicate gift. The little birds had let out soft clicking sounds as they jiggled from their suspended point on the intricate branches of a tightly wound tree attached to the base of the box.

"_It's beautiful." _She had whispered.

He had reached out and wound it up, letting the light notes of their song: _Skinny Love,_ by _Birdy_ echo around them softly.

Matt clutched at the broken fragments of the birds, being careful to keep the sharp edges of the glass away from him. He clenched his jaw, and squeezed his eyes closed.

"Matt…" Jack whispered.

Matt hissed when he felt the glass cut into his hand. He relaxed his grip, and carefully stood to place the broken pieces on his dresser. He could hear Jack and Amy shifting behind him, but couldn't bring himself to turn around. They wanted to be forgiven, he knew that, and a piece of him knew that's what he should do. He could fix the music box, probably.

He knew it had been an accident, but Matt felt as though someone had come along and ripped open the hole in his chest all over again, leaving his wounds fresh.

He flinched when a small hand touched his shoulder. "Matt, we can fix it."

He snorted, and shrugged her hand away, spinning around sharply and marching out of the room.

"No you can't." He hissed.

"Matt—" Jack started.

Matt violently spun to face him. "No! Shut up! Just…." He clenched his fingers together, lowering his hand, which was trembling with the anger he was keeping tightly wound inside. Matt let out a loud puff of air to calm him. It didn't work.

They continued to stare at him, and he sighed tiredly, feeling a large and horribly familiar weight crash down on his shoulders. "This isn't like all the other times, Jack. This isn't something you can just patch up with a few bits of tape!"

Jack slowly raised his hands. "Listen, I know that, but I can try for you. I know how important that was to you Matt; I know how important Clara was."

He growled. "No, don't. Don't do that."

Amy pushed past Jack to stand toe-to-toe with Matt. She stared him down, matching his dark glare with her own. "Calm down."

"Why should I?" He hissed.

"Because Jack is your friend, because if you don't you're going to do something you'll regret."

He snorted. "No, I don't think I will. Get out of the way, Pond, this doesn't concern you."

Her eyes blazed. "Like hell it doesn't! He's my friend to, or did you forget that? And since when was it so easy for you to turn on us? Hm? Tell me that, Matt!"

Matt snarled. "Maybe I'm tired, Amelia. Tired of everyone poking their noses where they don't belong! Why can't you all just leave. Me. Alone!" He lurched, causing both of his friends to jerk, and threw a pile of books into his wall, making the whole house shake as they tumbled to the floor.

All three of them went very still, their eyes locked on each other.

Amy's eyes softened. "You see?" She whispered. "This is what happens when you've been alone for too long."

Matt paused, curling his hands into his sides before turning swiftly to rush down to his front door.

He stopped, and held it open. "I think it's time you both leave."

They both stood their ground for a moment, "Matt." Amy reached out a hand.

"I said: _get. Out_," Matt's voice was deadly, low and controlled. He was dangerous, they should remember that by now.

The three of them became locked in another stare down. Matt gripped the wooden edge of the door tightly with his fingers, ignoring the painful signals coming from hand.

Jack broke the silence first with a sigh. "Come on Amelia." He laid a hand on her shoulder and they both quickly gathered their things, exiting Matt's flat quietly.

Amy gave him one last look before she left, and he reached out to squeeze her hand. No, he wasn't mad at her, not really.

She gave him a timid smile, and left.

Matt slammed the door shut, letting the sound reverberate through the walls of his flat. He took a moment to lean against the door, breathing hard.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and swallowed down his tears. He was done crying. He was done being weak.

Matt decided he needed a distraction, something to take his mind off of this place. He fumbled through his drawers until he found what he was looking for—a phone number hastily scribbled onto a crinkled slip of paper. A number he had sworn to himself he would never call again.

He hesitated, his fingers just above the keys, before he finished dialing and pressed the phone to his ear. His heart was pounding, his breathing still a bit ragged. His chest still felt like someone had taken a wrecking ball to it, leaving nothing but the aching hole he couldn't escape from now.

He didn't care anymore; he was numb to the feeling.

"Hello?" A female voice purred.

Matt felt the familiar smirk slither across his face. "Professor Song, how about coffee?"


	8. Chapter 8: Insanity

**Hey everyone! I made my deadline, yay! Anyway, thank you all so very much for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your feedback. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Insanity.**

Clara couldn't believe her Aunt had actually followed through with her threat.

She had sat quietly in her room, trying in vain to hold back tears while Linda had a heated discussion with Dr. Jones. It seemed as though the kind therapist was on Clara's side in all of this, and she silently thanked her. She didn't know how she could go back to life without Matt now. He made her feel better, he made her forget.

"Thank you Ms. Jones, we'll be happy to attend." Linda snapped and slammed her phone onto a table, causing Clara to jump.

She scrambled away from her door when she heard Linda's thundering footsteps coming down the hall.

Her Aunt burst into the room with a murderous expression. "We're meeting with your doctor in an hour. Get ready." She slammed her door shut hard enough that it made the foundations of the house vibrate.

Clara swallowed, and did as she was told.

The ride to the asylum was full of tension. Aunt Linda drove, her beady eyes glaring out at anyone who dared to challenge her rights on the road. Clara stared out of the window and tried to envision herself anywhere else. It didn't matter at this point, as long as she was far away from this woman.

Clara wasn't sure how much more she could take from her Aunt. Despite what Linda believed, she was not a child. She could take care of herself; it wasn't as though she was still considered a danger to herself or others anymore. Those days were far behind her.

Clara shuddered when she thought back on her first couple of days in the hospital, back when she was at her lowest point. When the whole world had looked dark and threatening, making everyone, including the people she loved; a danger.

They pulled up into the hospital's parking lot and her Aunt turned off the ignition roughly. She turned to glare at Clara, her mouth puckered in a disapproving line.

"Now remember, Clara, this whole meeting is just a formality. That Mr. Smith is a bad influence on you, and I'm sure Dr. Jones will see that." She sniffed, and pushed her door open.

Clara sat staring at the space she had just occupied. She had known her Aunt was overbearing, but could she really be this cruel? Linda _knew_ how much Matt had been helping her, she had commented on it several times over the past few weeks. How could she do this?

"Clara!"

She jumped, and hurried to follow her Aunt into the asylum. Matt was already there waiting at the front doors, his face full of worry and his eyes fixed on Clara.

"Are you okay?" He demanded as soon as she was within hearing range.

Clara gave him a slight smile, and reached out to squeeze his hand. "I've been better."

"You get away from her." Linda hissed over Clara's shoulder.

Matt narrowed his eyes, but dropped Clara's hand after giving it one last squeeze. "You must be Linda Oswald."

She sniffed, and pulled Clara away from him. "And _you_ must be John Smith. Tell me, John, what _really_ happened last night?" Her tone was scathing, her features twisted with rage.

"Linda!" Clara shouted, and roughly shoved away from her aunt. "Can we all just go inside, please?"

Her aunt gave her a glare that was so heated, Clara worried for a moment that Linda was going to slap her.

"Fine," She hissed, and shoved past Matt and Clara roughly.

The two of them shared a look, and quietly followed her into the small reception area of the hospital. Linda went up to the desk to ask for Dr. Jones while Matt and Clara hung back by the doors.

Matt reached down to squeeze her hand. She felt him lean down to whisper into her ear. "It's all going to be okay, I promise."

Clara wanted to tell him not to make promises he couldn't keep, but only nodded mutely and gripped his fingers a little more tightly than was necessary. Matt didn't complain, instead, she felt his own grip tighten around her own hand. Despite the brave front he was putting up, Clara could tell he was even more afraid of this meeting than she was. She wondered why that would be; the outcome of today would affect her more than him.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a door opened and Dr. Jones appeared. Her smile faded when she saw them, and Clara could see the dark circles under her eyes. It seemed to her that Dr. Jones wasn't looking forward to this meeting any more than she or Matt was. "Ah. Clara, Ms. Oswald, Mr. Smith; if you would all come with me," she held the door open.

The three of them silently filed through the doorway into a sterile hallway. Clara shivered; she could feel her memories of everything that had brought her to this place leaking up through the white tile. Part of her wanted to keep looking over her shoulder in search of Nina. She had to be here, Clara was sure of it.

She shook her head at that thought, Nina wasn't real. She knew that. Didn't she?

Clara bit her lip, and took a step closer to Matt.

Her therapist waved a hand forward. "We're just at the end of the hall."

Linda barely gave Ms. Jones a disapproving look, and Matt held on to Clara's hand the whole time. Could he feel how this place was making her heart rate pick up speed? Could he hear how her breathing was coming out in quick and shallow puffs? He must have, because she saw him glance down at her with concern.

Dr. Jones stopped next to a plain wooden door that had her name on a plaque beside it. She gave the three of them a watery smile and pulled out her keys, unlocking the door quickly and waving the three of them in first.

_This is insane_, Clara thought to herself, but voluntarily followed the other two into Dr. Jones' office, taking a seat between Matt and Linda on the other side of a familiar desk. She hated this place; the memories that were now rapidly bubbling up out of the walls were starting to leave a bad taste in her mouth. She clenched her fists in her lap and twisted the hem of her shirt. She wanted to leave. Now.

Her mind was racing and she could feel the room starting to spin. The blood was rushing in her ears and it was all she could do to keep herself from falling out of her chair. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, and held on to the armrests so tightly her fingers were starting to go numb. She needed to get out of here, she needed to escape, she needed—

"Alright," Clara straightened up when Dr. Jones abruptly halted her racing thoughts with a heavy sigh. The therapist sat across from them, folding her hands on top of her neatly polished desk. She kept her eyes firmly on Clara. "I hear there's been some trouble between you and your aunt, Clara, do you want to tell me about it?"

Clara opened her mouth, but Linda beat her to it.

"Well, it's all_ that_ man's fault, really!" Her aunt jabbed a finger towards Matt. "Clara stays out with that boy all hours of the night, she never calls me, she never lets me know where she is or when she'll be home, and—oh you'll love this! Last night—"

Dr. Jones held up a hand. "I believe I was speaking to Clara, Ms. Oswald."

Linda sniffed, looking outraged that the kind therapist had dared to interrupt her, but crossed her arms and said nothing.

Dr. Jones turned her focus back on Clara. "Clara? Do you want to tell me about your relationship with your aunt?"

Clara bit her lip, and looked down. She didn't want to tell Dr. Jones the truth—that she was suffocating in that house. That her aunt treated her like a child and oppressed her every decision. Linda was the last family member she had that hadn't disowned her. She could take the verbal abuse from her aunt, couldn't she? She was tough; it shouldn't bother her so much. They could work everything out, couldn't they?

Part of Clara knew that was a foolish hope. Linda was never going to see her as anything other than a nuisance. She bit her lip, maybe if she told the truth they would be able to work everything out. She still couldn't bring herself to believe that Linda could be cruel. She was Clara's aunt; after all, maybe she would come to see how much she hurt Clara with her overprotective nature. Maybe she would see sense, and treat Clara as the adult she was.

Maybe she didn't have to lose any more family after all.

She felt Matt's hand reach out and take her own, and it was that small gesture of comfort that allowed her to look back up into Dr. Jones' eyes.

"I hate it there." Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "Linda doesn't seem to understand that I am an adult, that she doesn't get to make my decisions or punish me like a teenager when I do something wrong."

Her therapist gave her a sympathetic look. "That must really frustrate you."

"Yeah," Clara muttered. "It does."

They were quiet for a moment. Clara felt her heart pounding through her ribcage. She felt Linda's gaze boring into her, but kept her eyes firmly on her lap. She couldn't look at her, not yet. If she looked at her now she was going to breakdown, she knew it.

_Don't look at her, don't look at her, don't look at her_, Clara chanted to herself. But finally, after another tense second, she looked up.

Clara shrank back against her aunt's venomous glare.

"I can't believe you," Linda's aggressive hiss made Clara jump. "I take care of you! I provide for you, and I protect you. I even go out and find you _a job_ when you were too lazy to do it for yourself, and this is how you thank me? By accusing me of being a tyrant?"

Clara shrunk farther away from her aunt, pushing against the far armrest of her seat in a vain attempt to be closer to Matt. She saw a brief look of anger flash across Ms. Jones' pretty features, and a look of pure rage in Matt's eyes.

She could feel him shaking with that anger against her, but he kept it in control.

Dr. Jones held up a hand when Linda opened her mouth to continue. "Why don't you hold off for just a moment, Ms. Oswald, I'd like to hear about what happened last night."

Linda curled her lip. "What happened last night? Oh-ho, I'll tell you what happened. Clara went to meet Mr. Smith for their usual night out, but she never came home. She didn't even call! But that's not the worst of it, Dr. Jones." She leaned in conspiratorially, "He seduced her."

"I did not!" Matt shouted. "I would never do such a thing, Ms. Oswald! How _dare_ you accuse me of disrespecting Clara that way!" His face was bright red now, and livid with the anger he had previously kept so tightly controlled. In truth, it scared Clara a little; she had never seen this side of him before, but she liked it. He was standing up to her aunt in a way she never could. In a way no one had ever tried to before. Clara admired him for his bravery, but dug her fingers into his arm as a warning. She knew her aunt would tear Matt to shreds if he wasn't careful.

"Okay, I think everyone needs to just take a deep breath. I want you all too just breathe with me for a moment, okay?" Dr. Jones' voice was completely calm as she took in a deep breath herself, "That's it; in… And out."

They followed her directions, and Clara felt her muscles relaxing as a peaceful stillness fell across the room. She wished with all of her heart that this was the way things were: quiet, peaceful, still. Maybe then this whole mess would go away on its own so she wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. Maybe then Clara would be able to think in straight lines again, maybe then she could feel free again.

But of course; it couldn't last.

"Now," her therapist continued. "Matt, Clara, what happened last night?"

The two of them shared a look, and she could see the questions in Matt's eyes. She knew he was wondering how much he was allowed to share, and she was thinking the same thing. Their Wednesdays were private; they both seemed to agree upon that, so how much could they tell Linda and Ms. Jones to ease their concerns?

"Well," Matt started, "It really just started out like any other Wednesday night. The two of us met up at the Timberyard, and then I drove us over to the park to go duck watching."

"_Feeding_," Clara corrected under her breath.

Matt gave her a sideways glance, "Right. Anyway, we were almost there when there was a car accident a street behind us… Clara? Do you want to explain what happened next?"

She bit her lip and took in a deep breath. "I had an anxiety attack. I was convinced that my mother was in that car, I had to get to her."

She heard Linda let out a snort and felt a brief stab of hurt. Her aunt had never fully accepted Clara's condition as a reality. Linda had always believed that Clara's whole diagnosis was in her head, that her niece would be able to get over her delusions if she was only a stronger person. She had told Clara that once, when she was still in the asylum.

Clara still resented her for that.

Dr. Jones reached across the desk to squeeze Clara's free hand. "That must have felt awful."

She nodded. "It would have been much worse, but I had Matt. He calmed me down almost immediately, and then took me to his flat for a quiet night in. I was too upset to do anything else, really."

Dr. Jones glanced at Linda. "So, if I'm hearing you correctly, you had a slight episode that was triggered by the car accident, and it was Matt who brought you out of it?"

Clara nodded, "Right."

"And then the two of you went back to his flat?"

She nodded again, "We did."

"What happened next?"

Clara glanced at Linda, who was glaring daggers at her and Matt. She sighed heavily, and tore her eyes away from her aunt. "We had tea, and I accidentally fell asleep while we were watching _Jaws_."

Dr. Jones raised her eyebrows. "That's it?"

Matt and Clara nodded. "That's it."

Clara's therapist turned her attention to Linda. "Well, Ms. Oswald, it sounds to me like Mr. Smith helped your niece through a rough night. You should be glad he was there for Clara."

Linda gaped. "How can you possibly believe that? He manipulated her! That's all the boys his age ever do—manipulate and deceive. You should know that better than anyone, _Dr._ Jones, as the therapist _you claim_ to be."

Dr. Jones' tightened her lips into a straight line. "Ms. Oswald… Linda, I assure you that I _am_ good at my job. I would not hold a position at this institution if that were not true. More importantly, I think you have made me aware of information that is critically important for Clara's continued recovery."

Linda straightened up in her chair, staring down her nose at the therapist with a smug look on her face. "Oh?" She asked haughtily. "And what's that, then?"

Clara's therapist sighed. "I think I will have to reevaluate the decision to place Clara under your care. After this meeting I'm not quite convinced that you are the best person to be her caregiver at the moment."

Linda sat staring in shock with her mouth hanging slightly open. She spluttered, "Not the right…?" Anger flashed in her eyes. "I'll have you know, Dr. Jones, that I am the _most_ qualified person to care for _my niece_."

Ms. Jones folded her hands back down on her desk and leaned forward, "How so?" She met Linda's gaze with a challenge in her eyes, daring Clara's aunt to defend her argument.

Linda opened her mouth, closed it, and stared Dr. Jones down.

Clara and Matt sat frozen while a few tense seconds passed by.

Finally, Dr. Jones shifted her eyes to Clara. "Clara, do you want to stay with your Aunt? You are, as you say, an adult, and I have no reason to believe that you are not capable of making rational choices for yourself at this point. It's ultimately your decision."

Linda glared at Clara. "Before you answer that let me tell you this. If you leave now, you can't ever come back. I won't ever want to see you again, do you hear me?"

Clara gave her aunt a blank stare, a numb kind of shock the only emotion she was capable of feeling at the moment. She still couldn't believe her aunt could be cruel; it just wasn't in her nature.

Linda sneered at her. "I'm the last link to family that you have, girl, try to remember that."

Clara looked away for a moment, swallowing down the lump that had lodged itself in her throat. She didn't want to do this; family had always been one of the most important pieces of her life, one of the only constants she had left. She couldn't lose the last link she had, not now, not when everything else had fallen apart around her.

Clara straightened up in her chair, her eyes set firmly in front of her. Slowly, she turned to face her Aunt. Linda's expression was filled with malice and hatred, and Clara could see the gleam of triumph already in her eyes. She thought she was going to win again.

Clara swallowed again; she couldn't let Linda have this too. It was time for her to be free again. Maybe one day the two of them would be able to work everything out, but today was not that day, now was not that time.

Matt took her hand, and she pulled her gaze back over to Dr. Jones.

"No, I don't want to stay with her anymore. If it's possible, I would like to live with Matt from now on." She felt a little thrill go through her as she said the words, and felt Matt's jolt of surprise. Clara quickly turned to face him. "If you want me, that is."

He nodded quickly. "Oh yes! I mean, yes." He looked over at Dr. Jones. "I would be happy to be Clara's caregiver, if I can."

Dr. Jones looked a little apprehensive. "You realize what you're taking on, don't you? There are things you'll have to do for Clara that she cannot do herself. You'll have to keep her on a regular routine, and be deliberate in making sure she takes her medications _every single day_."

"I can handle it." Matt said, and intertwined his fingers with Clara's.

Clara's therapist let out a heavy sigh. "Well, if this is what you want Clara I see no reason to deny you. It is, as I said, your choice after all. However, I would like you to attend a few therapy sessions with me once a month for the next three months to make sure this was a wise decision, can you do that?"

Clara nodded a little too eagerly. "Yes."

Dr. Jones smiled at her kindly. "Well then, Ms. Oswald, Clara, the two of you are free to go. Matt, I need you to stay so I can file a bit of paper work on you and make sure you have the same instructions I gave to Linda when she first took Clara on."

Clara bristled at that last statement. She didn't like it when people said things like that; it made her feel as though she were some kind of animal; like a dog or a fish. She knew that wasn't how Ms. Jones had meant it, yet she couldn't help but feel a little stung by her comment.

She swallowed thickly, and followed her aunt back out into the hallway.

Linda whirled on her as soon as the door was shut. Clara backed up when her aunt moved to get right in her face. She hit the wall with a dull thud, and Linda stopped so that her nose was almost skimming Clara's face. She was almost a foot taller than her niece, and her hot breath made Clara's eyes water.

"I hope you're happy now." Linda growled. "Because I don't ever want to see you again, you disgusting whore." She spit into Clara's eyes and turned sharply on her spiky heel, marching down the hallway with quick, loud steps.

Clara wiped the wetness out of her eyes, and pulled in a shaky breath. She had just cut off the last tie to her family, and she knew it. Linda would never be able to reconcile with her now. That had been a foolish hope from the beginning, and she wondered how she had ever been able to trick herself into thinking it was possible.

Family had always been one of the most important aspects in Clara's life, who or what was going to fill that void now?

Matt Smith.

She couldn't help the slow smile that spread across her face as he walked out of Dr. Jones' office with a file in his hands. They had won. They had gone up against Clara's worst enemy, so to speak, and they had won. He picked her up and spun her around in a wide circle, nearly knocking them both into a plastic ficus in the hallway.

"We did it Clara!" He cried happily.

"We're free!" Clara shouted back, giggling against his neck until he set her down.

They stood staring at each other for a moment, just taking a pause to let the events of the past day register with them. That was when Clara realized something important.

Her eyes widened. "Oh God, now I have to go back to her flat to pack up my things…"

Matt smiled, and cupped her cheeks gently. "Hey, no, don't worry about that. I'll get Amy and Jack to help me take care of that. You can go back to the flat." He grinned.

Clara smiled timidly. "Thanks, Matt."

Matt smiled, and then smacked his forehead. "Oh! Hold on just a moment," He rummaged around in his pockets until he came up with a shiny key, "This, is for you."

Clara's smile widened as she took the small key into her hands. "Should I be in awe or something?"

Matt snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Yes Oswald, you definitely should."

She grinned. "Well then, consider me wowed by this honorable gift."

He smiled, and took her hand.

* * *

Clara waited for him and his friends to come back to the flat for four hours. She wondered what could possibly be taking them so long, it wasn't as though she had a lot of things that needed to be moved. It was just one small bedroom, really, how long would it take?

Part of her knew that what she was doing now was an absolutely insane decision to make. She had just cut herself off completely from her family for a man she had only met a month ago. Clara knew she would start to have a full-scale anxiety attack if she allowed herself to think about that for too long.

She was moving in with a man she had only met a month ago. But, really, what other option could she have taken? She would never go back to the asylum if she could help it, and anywhere else was better than her aunt Linda's. Matt was her friend, he wasn't going to do anything to intentionally hurt her while she lived here. Or at least, that was what Clara told herself.

Apparently moving her things took a lot longer than Clara had originally thought, because it wasn't until an hour and a half later that Matt arrived back at the flat, boxes stacked up in his arms.

He poked his head around one of the boxes and smiled. "Hi there, sorry it took so long. Your aunt had a few choice words to say to us, especially me."

Clara rushed forward to take the top box away from him, and only then saw the red mark on his cheek. "She _hit_ you?"

Matt shrugged as they set the boxes down in the lounge. "She might've, yeah, it doesn't hurt anymore though."

She blinked, and reached up, only to pull her hand back at the last second. "Let me get some ice for that."

"No, its fine, I promise."

They were interrupted by a loud bang. "Somebody want to help me?" A distinct, gruff Scottish voice asked.

Clara and Matt rushed forward to help the woman with vibrant red hair and long legs. Clara gave her a tentative smile as she took one of the boxes. "You must be Amelia Williams." She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks. She had known Matt was friends with her favorite author, but the fact that she was meeting the woman herself was leaving Clara a bit star struck.

Amelia smiled at her kindly. "Call me Amy. You must be Clara," She extended a hand that Clara took a little too eagerly. Amy leaned in conspiratorially. "He hasn't shut up about you since he met you, yah know."

Clara grinned, and blushed, "Really?"

They were interrupted by another loud thump, "Oi! Either of you ladies wanna help a fella out here?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Oh, do man up Jack." She turned to help the man behind her.

Clara was taken aback for a moment. Jack was American, she could tell by the accent, and had to be one of the most handsome men she had ever met. He had a very well defined figure, with sharp facial features and bright blue eyes.

He gave her a coy smile and held out his hand. "Hey there, name's Jack Harkness, and might I say it is a _real pleasure_ to meet you, Clara Oswald."

Clara couldn't help it, she blushed, "Likewise, Mr. Harkness."

He smirked. "Oh please, call me Jack."

"No!" Matt yelled as he passed by Jack on his way back into the flat.

Jack huffed loudly. "I was only saying _hello_!"

Amy smiled as she rejoined them in the hallway, giving Jack's shoulder a firm pat. "Oh my dear captain, saying hello for you is still flirting."

Jack rolled his eyes, and shoved past them into the apartment.

Amy and Clara laughed, and the other woman slung an arm around Clara's shoulders. "I think there are only one or two more things for us to bring up."

Clara grinned as Amy pulled her down the stairs. "Is he always like that?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Yes. It gets old quickly, trust me."

Clara laughed a little as they walked out of the building and pulled the last few boxes out of Matt's car. "So how long have you all been friends, then?"

Amy stopped to think. "Oh, I dunno… A while, I guess you could say. Jack and I were in a foster home with Matt for a bit, right before he was adopted by the Tylers, actually. He must've been… Fifteen, I think? I dunno; you'll have to ask him."

As soon as the two girls stepped foot into the flat a loud cracking sound echoed from the kitchen. "Jack!"

"What? All I'm saying is she's attractive!"

Clara blushed, and she heard Matt growl. "That is _not_ what you said. Have a bit of respect."

Amy rolled her eyes and grabbed Clara's arm. "C'mon, we better break them up. Boys!"

Both Matt and Jack rounded to face the two girls as they entered the kitchen. "He started it!" Matt cried, pointing a finger at his friend.

Jack snorted and crossed his arms defensively, "Did _not_." His eyes trailed down Clara in a way that made her blush even redder. "She did."

Amy huffed, and lurched forward to flick both of them in their ears. Clara covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing as both Matt and Jack cried out in pain.

"Jesus Amy, what was _that_ for?" Matt demanded.

Amy glared at him. "_That_ was for pissing off Clara's aunt needlessly when we went to gather her things."

"Then why'd you flick _me_?" Jack whined.

Amy gave him a smirk. "Just for being you, Jack. Matt's right; Clara's one of us now. You need to show her some respect."

Matt seemed to freeze, his eyes widening as they settled on Clara.

Clara blinked, and shifted uncomfortably. "What? How am I one of you?"

Amy glanced over her shoulder. "We're all foster kids, Clara; our families either died or gave us up. Just like yours did, if I'm not mistaken," She reached out and squeezed Clara's hand. "That hasn't hit you yet, has it?"

Suddenly Clara felt as though she couldn't breathe. "No I—I'm sure that…" She pulled away from Amy and stepped backwards out of the kitchen.

Matt reached for her with a sympathetic look. "Clara, I'm sorry."

She shook her head and took another couple of steps back. "No, just… Just…" She let her head fall into her hands. "Just don't talk about it. I can't think about it."

She felt a warm arm curl around her waist. Matt pulled her in close against him, and brought a hand up to smooth her hair back. "It's okay to feel sad, Clara."

Clara shuddered and looked up at him. "I'm not ready."

He nodded, and took her hand. "Okay, okay. Why don't we get a few of your things unpacked, ay? It'll give you something to focus on."

She nodded, and sniffed before turning to the closest box and tearing it open. She heard Matt leading Amy and Jack to the door. She felt Amy give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she passed Clara.

Jack stopped in front of her. "I'm sorry, Clara."

She gave him a weak smile. "It's alright."

He shocked her again by leaning forward and kissing her cheek. "Matt's a good guy," He whispered into her ear. "Take care of him for us."

Clara gave him a slight nod, and Jack grinned at her before letting Matt shove him out of the door.

She smiled to herself as she opened a few more of her boxes. She liked Amy and Jack; they weren't anything she had expected. She thought back over what Amy had said, how she was one of them now, and wondered if they would really be able to accept her so easily. She wasn't truly one of them, not really. Her family wasn't dead, and they hadn't truly abandoned her, she had walked out on them.

And then there was the ever looming fact that she was an adult, the three of them had all been kids when they were put into foster care. Unlike them, Clara hadn't ever experienced the idea of living with a family that wasn't really hers. She hadn't grown up moving around from home to home or feeling as though she didn't belong anywhere. Clara hadn't spent countless nights awake wondering when she would have to leave again, hadn't kept walls around her to keep everyone out so she wouldn't have to say goodbye all the time. She'd never had to go through life without being rooted in one place with one set of friends.

So, really, how could she be one of them?

"Hey, are you alright?" A soft voice asked.

Clara turned to find Matt staring at her, one of her picture frames in his hands. She smiled when she caught sight of the image inside. It was a photo of her mum and her on the couch in her family's small living room. It had been Clara's sixteenth birthday.

She stepped forward and gingerly took the picture from him.

She smiled. "I remember when this was taken."

Matt glanced down. "Is that your mum?"

Clara nodded. "It was my birthday, the last birthday I spent with her. She gave me this." She held up her necklace. It was a small leaf charm on the end of a golden chain. "She said, as long as I had it I would always be able to find my way home."

Matt's brow crinkled. "You must miss her a lot."

Clara swallowed, and let the necklace drop. She sniffed and picked up a box filled with her clothes. "So, am I in your spare room or on the couch?"

Matt bit his lip, but waved her up the stairs. "I trust you remember where it is."

She nodded, and stepped passed him. He stopped her with a hand on her wrist, and she glanced back. Matt's face was smooth, but his eyes were filled with concern.

"You know you're not alone, right? I'm here, when you want to talk. I know what you're going through."

Clara swallowed, and pulled her arm away gently. "No, you don't."

He seemed to deflate under words. "No, maybe I don't, but I do understand what it's like to lose the last piece of family that you have. I just want to make sure you still know that you can talk to me, off the record of course."

Clara snorted. "Thanks."

"No, Clara, that's not—" Matt growled out his irritation, and ran a hand through his hair. "What I mean to say is…"

Clara waited.

Matt swallowed. "Is…"

Clara sighed heavily when he still couldn't continue, and made her way over to the stairs. "It's been a long day, Matt, I'm going to sleep."

She heard him sigh. "Yeah, okay." She didn't look back when she heard him mutter something under his breath, and quickly shut herself into her new room.

Clara let the box fall out of her arms, landing with a loud bang on the floor. She pulled in a deep breath, and let herself sink down onto the bed.

Clara closed her eyes, and finally allowed herself to cry.

* * *

**Thoughts? I don't know how realistic it would be that Clara's therapist would allow her to live with Matt, but for the purpose of this story I'm going to take a few liberties and let it slide. Anyway, let me know what you all think, feedback will only make this story better. Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9: Toxic

**Hi folks! I know I'm a bit early, but I don't know if I could wait another twelve hours or so before posting this. I want to just say before we get started here that I do _not_ hate River. Actually, she has become one of my favorite characters, and I absolutely love the relationship between her and the Doctor. But for the purpose of this story, the only way she could fit in was for me to create a relationship between her and Matt that isn't exactly healthy or functional. Because of that I might not portray her in the kindest light at times. I send my apologies to all of my fellow River lovers out there, so sorry about this!**

**I want to send out a thank to the lovely guest whom I keep forgetting to acknowledge for your review on chapter 7. You got me writing this story again, so thank you, who ever you are. :) Also, a big thank you to everyone who has been reading this story, without you guys I would've abandoned this completely.**

**Enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think in a review! I love feedback. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Toxic.**

It really had all started with that first kiss.

No, not his first kiss in the library, although that probably had affected the situation he was in now in some way. Nor was it the kiss they shared on the steps of the grand Washington Library. Nor was it the many they shared in between those times, or the few they had afterwards.

When Matt really thought long and hard about it, it wasn't even the searing kiss they had shared in her flat tonight. No, this kiss was much simpler than that, much less… Momentous. And yet, it could quite possibly be the single moment that had started this complicated mess he had gotten himself into.

He shouldn't have asked her to coffee. Matt should have resisted the urge to call her, as he had done countless times before, and called Jenny or David or Rose instead. He should have taken a walk, or curled up with a movie on his couch, or listened to one of his many CD's, or shut himself back up in his study and gotten back to work.

What he most certainly _should not_ have done was taken up her suggestion for lunch later that week, or dinner the next, or that movie a few days afterwards. Matt shouldn't have gotten caught in this trap again, and he _certainly_ shouldn't have taken River up on her offer of dinner at her flat.

But he did, and so here he was, in her home, a month after he had first contacted her.

His mind raced as he stared up at the ceiling, how could he find himself here _again_ when he swore he was never coming back? How could he be here, in this flat, in this bed, when his heart still belonged to another?

Matt had sworn he would never allow _River Song_ to manipulate him back into this situation ever again, and yet here he was.

Matt pulled an arm behind his head, and turned to look at her sleeping face. River had one hand on his bare chest, and the other tucked up under her pillow. Matt pursed his lips as he stared at her; she had always looked best while sleeping. The sight had always reminded him of why he fell for her in the first place.

He reached over to brush back a piece of her wild hair, and for a moment his fingers were met with a very different lock, one that was a dark brown and silky instead of curly and blond.

Matt clenched his fists and turned away from River. He could see her, in his head; he could see her every time they had touched. Every kiss, every whisper, had been a ghost of her. And if he were being completely honest with himself, Matt knew he wasn't truly happy in this bed with this woman. Not when all he wanted was to be with someone else. Not when he wanted those touches to come from a different set of hands, for those kisses to grace him from a different set of lips.

Not when he wanted for those eyes not to be a piercing blue-green, but a soft and rich chocolate brown, and most certainly not when the numb feeling that had begun to take root in his heart was spreading over his limbs like an anesthetic.

"_That's it; in… And out." _Her voice whispered, her hand sliding around his middle.

But no, it wasn't her. It wasn't her hand and it wasn't her body pressed against his. And instead of the comfort he knew he should feel from her being curled around him, all Matt felt was a cold anxiety that shot through his veins with every heartbeat.

River Song wasn't his Clara.

She never could be.

* * *

**One Month Previously…**

Matt didn't know what the hell he was doing here.

He was sitting in the Timberyard, his hands tucked around a full steaming mug of coffee, waiting for River Song to show up. _River Song_.

What was he thinking?

Moreover, why had he suggested this place? This was _their _place—his and Clara's. Not River, he never should have invited her here. He never should have called her period, and yet here he sat.

"Bloody hell," He muttered, and took another sip of his drink. "What have you done now?"

It was at this exact moment that River decided to show up.

She stepped in, all high heels and leather, and shook out her blond curls. Matt could only stare as she scanned the crowd for him, and then let a feline smile curl around her lips when her sharp eyes finally settled on his booth.

He gulped, and tried to smile back as she sauntered over his way.

Matt could imagine what Clara would be thinking right now. She wouldn't have like the way River's eyes sparked when she saw Matt, she would've stiffened when River didn't bother with the seat across the table, but instead chose to plop herself down right next to him. Clara would have raised both eyebrows up to her hairline when she saw River give Matt a coy smile and a flirty nudge.

Oh yes, she would've hated this.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" River demanded after a second too long of silence between them.

Matt jumped, "Oh, um, yes… Hi River."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, that's certainly not the hello I would've envisioned."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well…"

River cocked her head, looking him over with curious eyes. Matt hated it when she would do this. She had always been far too good at reading people, and she seemed even better at it when she focused on him.

He remembered the days when he had loved that about her, when it was a private joke between the two of them. Matt would point someone out on the street and River would give him what she could observe, then the two of them would make up a backstory to laugh over. It was all a game, fun.

Until it wasn't.

Finally, her eyes caught on the silver band around his finger. She blinked, and stood. "Oh, I'm so sorry." She backed up to the seat across from him with a deep blush along her cheekbones. "I'm sorry Matt, I didn't realize."

He held up a hand. "No, it's okay, don't apologize. I forgot I had it on." Matt chuckled a bit and stared down at his hand. Should he take it off? Clara wasn't here, and it wasn't as though she was ever coming back.

The thought made him a little nauseous, and he chose to leave it on. Matt already felt like he was betraying her, he wasn't going to sacrifice anything more for this reunion.

The other ring around his neck suddenly felt heavier. It was her ring, warm against his chest, reminding him of why he was here.

Why was he here?

River studied him, her eyes just as intimidating as ever. "What happened to her?"

Matt jumped, looking up at her with wide eyes. "How do you know something's happened?"

She smirked. "Telling would be cheating."

_Spoilers_; the word popped into his head before he was able to stop it. But that was from another time, in a situation wholly different from the one he was in now.

He swallowed, twisting the ring around his finger. "She… She died."

River waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. After a moment she took the hint. Matt jumped again when he felt her warm hand on his. Part of him wanted to pull away, to snatch his hand out from hers and run out of here as fast as he could. And yet another part of him, a part that the rest of him screamed at to be quiet, wanted to turn his hand over and intertwine their fingers.

Matt held down the scream that threatened to tear him to shreds. He couldn't do this now; he couldn't show her the weakness inside of him. She wouldn't accept it.

He looked up, and was surprised to see that River's eyes had softened. "What was her name?"

Matt cleared his throat. "Clara, Clara Oswald."

She grinned at him. "I like it, Clara Smith."

Matt looked away when she corrected him. It was true of course; Clara had chosen to change her last name when they were married. But to hear it, to hear that proof that she was part of him out loud nearly broke him into pieces; he wanted—_needed _to distance himself from her. If he didn't do that Matt wasn't sure he would survive.

That thought made him want to cry. He was _supposed_ to want her to be part of him, wasn't he? He was _supposed_ to be happy. With her. For the rest of their lives.

Where had it all gone wrong?

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So," River straightened up. "Tell me all about this Clara."

They spent most of the afternoon tucked inside of that coffee shop. River listened with sincere interest as Matt told her everything he could about Clara. He went through the story of how they met; glossing over many of the more personal details, keeping the fact that she was diagnosed with a mental illness to himself. He could see that River knew he wasn't telling her the whole story, but she never asked for more. That had always been the silent agreement between them, never to ask. It had probably been what ruined them, Matt knew, but in this moment he was grateful for the arrangement.

Finally, as the story wound down to its end, Matt quieted. The shop was still a bustle of activity around them, and he stared out at the crowd, waiting for River to say something.

"Matt," She said quietly, and waited until he looked at her. "Why did you call me?"

Matt opened his mouth, but the words got stuck in his throat. He didn't know, that was the truth, he didn't know what had possessed him to call her. The woman he'd sworn never to see again.

"The last time I saw you, you swore we would never meet again." She whispered, and he could see the hurt still there in the back of her eyes. "You said that being with me was killing you; that you needed to be free."

_You're the woman who kills me._

Matt looked down at his hands. "I did say that, didn't I?"

She snorted, and crossed her arms. "Do you ever feel like we keep meeting in the wrong order? I mean, look at us." She let out a bitter laugh. "I always feel like you're four steps ahead of me and I'm two behind. You keep growing and changing and looking towards your future, while I stay here, trapped by my past."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I follow."

River looked down at her hands. "Matt… John. I went back to Simeon, after you left."

Matt's eyes shot up to her, "_What_?"

She avoided his eyes. "I had nowhere left to go, and no one who would take me in. Even Amy wanted nothing to do with me! What was I supposed to do?"

"Not go back to _him_ that's for sure! River, what were you thinking?" Matt wasn't quite sure why it mattered to him anymore. He, as she said, had left. What happened to River after that day shouldn't concern him. Especially after what she had done to him, the lies and the secrets she had kept. He shouldn't care in the slightest that one of those secrets had recaptured her, in the end. He shouldn't be bothered by it at all.

And yet, he was.

River bit her lip. She could never appear weak if she tried, but right now Matt could see how vulnerable she was feeling. Or acting, it was always hard to determine what was genuine with River.

"I told you I would, if you left, I warned you." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He recoiled, stunned by her blunt statement. It was true, she had warned him of what would happen if he left her, but at the time he was finished allowing himself to feel guilty for her choices.

Matt growled, "Why do you do this, why do you _always_ do this to me?" He scrubbed his face, avoiding her eyes as much as possible. "Don't I already feel enough guilt?" He mumbled, low enough so that River wouldn't be able to hear him.

"I know," River's tone had softened. "I'm sorry."

Matt clenched his jaw and shook his head. "Sorry doesn't mean anything when it comes to you."

Shock pulsed through River's eyes, followed by a twisted look of sadness, and then… Did he just see _guilt_ cross her face?

Matt wanted to shake his head again. River Song would never feel guilty for anything she did, no matter how horrible it may be.

"Will you never forgive me for that?" Her whisper was so quiet that Matt almost couldn't hear it over the noise of the café.

"Are you still with him?" Matt demanded.

She huffed. "You're avoiding the question."

"So are you."

River glared at him, and they stared each other down. This was their MO really, secrets, lies, argue, repeat.

He gave in first, sighing heavily and letting his head fall into his hands. "How could you expect me to?"

She swallowed, and grabbed her purse, but stopped. "I asked it before, and I'll ask it again. If you can't forgive me, Matt Smith, then why did you call me?"

Matt could only stare at her.

River closed her eyes and let out a weary breath before standing up. "I'm not, by the way. I left him a year ago. He was arrested by the American police."

She waited for him to say something, and when he didn't she turned to leave. Without thinking, Matt's hand flew up to grab her wrist. She stopped, and turned to stare at him with wide eyes. His grip was familiar to her, he knew, and it scared her.

He stamped down on the tiny part of him that liked that reaction, and pursed his lips. Finally, he allowed himself to slowly look up.

"I can't forgive you _yet_."

A tentative smile crossed her face, and she cautiously leaned down to give him a peck on his lips.

Maybe that was the moment when he lost it. Maybe it was that one, chaste kiss in the middle of a café full of people who were oblivious to them and each other. These clueless people who glanced at the couple, and quickly turned away out of some form of misguided politeness.

Matt really wished one of them would notice how afraid he felt.

River's smile widened when he didn't push her away, and he could see a hint of the triumph he knew all too well in the back of her eyes. She hesitantly stroked his cheek with the back of her fingertips and pulled away.

"Meet me for lunch sometime." She said.

He smirked, and let go of her wrist. "Call me." The words burned his mouth but he didn't take them back. He couldn't anyway, even if he wanted to.

Matt knew he was going to be sick now.

He watched her walk out of the shop, an extra sway in her hips as she pulled up her coat and ran back out into the rain. He could feel old memories being stirred up again; the familiar desire, the lust, the intrigue. He had only just spoken with River Song and already he was contemplating the idea of calling her up for lunch later that day.

That was his problem, Matt was a junkie, and River was his drug of choice. It wasn't healthy, and he knew it would never last. He would always end up being the one with scars in the end. For now, however, he was going to let it slide. He needed the promise of his next hit, after all.

He glanced around at the other tables, his eyes roving over the crowded shop until he settled on a young woman sitting alone by the window. Her hair was dark, maybe a shade or two off from Clara's, and she was clutching a mug of hot chocolate in one hand while furiously typing on her computer with the other.

She looked up, and Matt jumped. For just one instant he could have sworn it was her. There were the same elven features, the same dark brown eyes…

But then he blinked, and the vision was gone.

Matt hurriedly left a tip on his table and ran for the doors. He felt as though the walls were closing in on him, as if the other customers were pressed tightly against his body in an attempt to smother him. He needed to get out, he needed to be free, he needed…. He needed…

He pulled out his mobile and dialed her number with shaking fingers.

Jenny answered after only the first ring. "Matt?"

"Are you busy today?" Matt could hear the same trembling in his voice, and fought hard to bring himself under control. This was not the place for an anxiety attack.

"I'm just getting off of work, where are you?" He heard the loud bang of a car door, and an engine starting up in the background.

"I'm by the Timberyard, on my way home."

He heard her let out a relieved sigh, "Okay, Matt, just stop. Stay where you are, alright? I'm coming to pick you up."

Matt nodded mutely, and hung up his phone. He was holding the device so tightly he could feel the plastic creaking beneath his fingers. He stuffed the device into his pocket and tucked himself under one of the eaves of the building. It was cold enough that he could see his breath, and he started to register the violent tremors coming from within his chest and working their way down his body, but he didn't care. The cold made him feel alive.

He heard the footsteps as they approached him, but he didn't bother to turn around. He assumed it was just another stranger trying to get out of the rain. It wasn't until the man spoke that Matt's whole body went rigid.

"John?" The voice was gruff, strained. It was almost as though the man couldn't quite believe who he had just spoken to.

_No. _Matt squeezed his eyes shut. _No, no, just please. Don't let it be him, don't let it be him._

"_Be brave." _She whispered.

He slowly forced himself to turn around.

Paul's eyes were more watery than usual, and the dark circles made his face look like it was an unnatural shade of grey. His wet hair hung limply against his temples, and his whole body seemed to sag as he stood there—as if gravity was slowly causing him to melt.

"_Be brave."_

Matt's eyes were cold. "Paul."

His father opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "They told me you're married."

Matt flinched. "_Was_," He corrected in a hiss. "She… She's gone now."

Paul blinked. "What happened?"

He stepped back. "Why do _you_ care?"

His father looked hurt over the venom in Matt's tone, but unsurprised that his presence was unwelcome, "Because I'm your father."

Matt snarled, and was just barely able to keep his fist from connecting with Paul's jaw.

He clenched his fingers, and shoved the hand back into his pocket. "Don't _ever_ say that again."

Paul's lips tightened into a firm line, and he took a small step away from Matt. Matt was glad for the space, he wasn't sure if he would be able to keep himself from punching Paul for much longer.

"Can I at least ask her name?"

Matt took in a breath to answer just as Jenny's car pulled up to the sidewalk. He snorted and glared at his father. "I have to go."

"Sure." Paul said with a defeated look in his eyes. "Take care, Matt."

Matt snorted and half ran for Jenny's car, "Yeah, sure."

Jenny sat staring at him with wide eyes as he shut the door. "Was that who I thought it was?"

"Yep, can we go?" Matt could feel his fingers shaking, the adrenaline only just now making its way through his system.

"Sure." Jenny put the car back into drive and pulled them out onto the road.

The farther they got away from the little coffee shop, the more Matt could feel himself relax. He rubbed at his face and sucked in a few deep breaths to try to slow his racing heart. He needed to calm down; he couldn't show Jenny just how bad he was. Matt needed to protect her from this.

"Do you want to tell me why he was there with you?" Jenny asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the road.

Matt let out a tired gust of air, and let his hands fall into his lap. "I didn't meet him there, _he_ found _me_."

His sister nodded, but didn't look at him. "I'm sorry."

He glanced at her warily, "For?"

She swallowed, and pulled the car onto his street. "I tried to get over here the other day so I could give you your manuscript back. I'm sorry I wasn't able to." She handed him the stack of papers sitting on the dashboard.

Matt took it, but he knew that wasn't what she had meant to say. He wouldn't press her, he was too afraid of what she might say. Despite how caring Jenny was, she had never really had a great tragedy in her life. The Tyler's had adopted her when she was a young child, and she had never experienced a death in her life.

Well, not until after she met Clara.

It was due to this lack of knowledge that Jenny could sometimes be too forward when it came to grief and trauma. She didn't know when to back off.

Matt sighed, and crawled out of her car when they pulled up to his flat. "Thanks for the ride, Jen."

Her smile was hesitant. "Can I come in?"

He swallowed, but nodded. "Sure." He was the one who had called her, that meant he wanted to talk to her. Didn't it?

Didn't it? He wasn't sure anymore. He didn't know what it was that he wanted, not really.

"Do you want tea or anything?" Matt asked as they entered his apartment. "I think I've still got some jammie dodgers tucked away somewhere."

Jenny shook her head. "No, thank you."

Matt shrugged, and went to the cupboard in search of the cookies. "So how are things, Jenny?"

She let out a loud breath, "Oh, same old, same old, really. Dad told me he wants to celebrate your birthdays _on time_ this year, and he really hopes you'll be there."

Matt froze, his hand hovering just above the box of jammie dodgers. "Do you mean at the house?"

"Sounds like it."

He grabbed the box and joined Jenny on the couch. "I don't really have anywhere else I need to be that day, do I?"

His sister bit her lip. "I think he was just worried about…"

"The anniversary," Matt finished. "I see."

They both sat in an awkward silence for a moment before Matt reached out for Jenny's hand.

"I'll be there." He promised.

She gave him a timid smile, and squeezed his hand. "I hope so."

The tension between them seemed to relax a bit when Matt pulled her into his side. Jenny tucked her head up against his neck, and they both took in a deep breath. He could hear how shaky the air coming out of her mouth was, and squeezed her shoulders.

"What is it?" He murmured.

Jenny gave a small shrug. "I miss you. I miss seeing you happy…. And I miss her, probably more than you realize. We all do."

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and rubbed her arm. "I know; I know you do. I'm sorry; I know it hurt when I shut you all out."

She sat up to look at his face. "Why _did_ you do that? We wanted to be there for you, especially mum. I think she misses you the most."

Matt shut his eyes tightly and willed away the image of Rose pleading with him to stay at their house the days before the funeral. He could still remember the hurt on her face when he had refused her, and he could still feel the stab of guilt for that decision.

He opened his eyes; Jenny was still waiting for an answer.

Matt pursed his lips. "Because…" He looked down at her confused face. Her blond hair was starting to fall out of its loose hairband, and the bags under her eyes seemed more prominent than usual. "I have to protect you," He admitted in a whisper.

Jenny's face contorted as understanding dawned on her. "That's what this is about?"

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let out a shaky breath. "It's just… I can't impose on mum and dad's happiness, and…"

"And I'm too naïve to understand?" She finished in a tone that was surprisingly mature. She let out a huff. "Matt, I may have been adopted when I was young, but that doesn't mean I don't remember hard times. Just because I don't tell anyone about my past doesn't mean I don't have one."

Matt blinked, stunned at her reaction. Jenny smiled, and took his hand. "Listen to me when I say this. You are _not_ imposing on anyone's happiness by needing us. This may not make sense, but we need you too. We need to see _you_ feel sad so that we feel like we have permission to feel it too. You probably don't realize this, you being you, but Clara didn't just touch _your_ life. She left a mark on all of us, and we're all struggling through this. Together."

Matt gave her hand another squeeze. "Thanks, Jen."

She smiled back, and kissed his cheek. "You're such an idiot."

* * *

**Present Day…**

He was an idiot, that was for sure. If there was any doubt about that fact at all, it was gone now.

Matt felt her stir beside him, and tried to shove down all the shouting in his head.

River smiled as she opened her eyes. "Good morning there."

He smiled back, although the action hurt him. "Hi."

"How long have you been awake?" Her voice was still hoarse from sleep, her hair a wild mess above her eyes.

He brushed a few strands away. "Not long." It was a lie, but he wasn't going to tell her about how he'd laid here all night thinking about what a mistake he was making. At the moment, the part of him that wanted to keep this mistake going overrode the rational part that wanted to run away as fast as he could.

She let out a small moan, and reached up to kiss him softly. He kissed her back, but pulled away as quickly as he could.

River smiled at him warmly. "What will you be up to today?"

He sighed, and wrapped his arms around her. "Well, I have to go to my parent's house to celebrate both mine and my dad's birthday. Ironically, we're born on the same day."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well that's… Different. What are the chances of that happening?"

Matt shrugged, and sat up to get dressed. "What about you? What will you be doing?"

River let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, I dunno, a little of this, a little of that. Not much that's too _terribly interesting_, really."

Matt saw the hint for what it was, and gave in with a huff. "Do you want to come?"

Her smile brightened, "Most definitely."

To Matt's dismay, it didn't take them nearly as long to get to his parent's house as he had hoped it would. River had actually been faster at getting ready than he had, and even despite his efforts to drag out the time it would take to get there, they still managed to arrive within an hour.

Matt shut off the car engine, and sat in the seat with his keys in hand. Jenny was already here, and he could see smoke rising out of his parent's chimney.

His heart was pounding and his mind was frozen solid. How was he going to do this? His family had hated River the first time around, they absolutely _despised _her now. That and it had been, what, only a handful of months since Clara had…

"Are we going in?" River broke through his thoughts.

"Yeah," Matt grabbed the gift he had brought for David and climbed out of the car.

River hopped out of her side and skipped over to take Matt's hand. He gave it to her reluctantly, and allowed her to kiss his cheek, her own hastily wrapped gift in her free hand. It was a sculpture of an old 1950's police box she'd had lying around. A gift from Simeon, she had said.

That last bit had made anger bubble up in Matt's stomach, but he ignored it. The little porcelain figure really was very artfully crafted, and he knew it would serve as a nice peace offering between her and his family.

Matt's senses seemed to be on alert as they neared the front porch. He could smell the scent of wet leaves and the salty tang of the ocean wafting through the air, along with a small hint of something cooking inside. He could hear the three of them laughing over something. Every crunch of the dead leaves under his feet seemed to further add to the anxiety building in his stomach, urging on his already too fast heartbeat.

Out of everything, however, he was most acutely aware of the warm hand wrapped around his own. Of what the reaction to that sight would be.

He dropped River's hand and took a step away.

"I can't do this." He hissed. "I can't take you in there."

River blinked, "Why not?"

He blinked with surprise. "Why—oh…" He brought his hands together and pressed them against his forehead, "Because they hate you."

She continued to stare at him, "So?"

Matt's eyes shot up. "So, they also might not take the idea of me seeing you too kindly. Especially so soon after…" His throat closed up and he shut his mouth, pulling his lips together in a tight line.

River sighed and took a step closer to stroke his face with her fingertips. "Sweetie, listen to me. I don't care. I didn't care that they hated me last time, and I certainly don't care now. I get that you're scared, and I get that presenting me as your "significant other" isn't appropriate right now." Her lips curled around the words _significant other_ with disgust. "If it makes you feel better, I'm here as your friend. Okay? Just a friend, that's all."

He shuddered, but nodded, "Alright."

Matt nodded, and pressed their foreheads together. "Okay."

She smiled, and kissed his cheek. "Besides, this is your life, Matt. They can't hold the final say over your decisions, you know that."

He let out a weary breath, and took her hand again. The two of them finished crossing the yard and stepped up onto the front porch. Matt could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he lifted a hand to ring the doorbell. Under normal circumstances he would just walk right in.

But these were anything but normal circumstances.

He heard footsteps running for the door, and felt the nervous flutter in his stomach when Jenny laughed at something David had said.

Matt held his breath as the lock turned, and kept his eyes set firmly forward as she opened the door with a wide smile that quickly faded.

River gave his sister a flirty wave, "Hey there Jen. Remember me?"

Jenny's expression went cold, "_River Song_."


End file.
